


Detachment

by Ghep



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:47:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 70,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25922311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghep/pseuds/Ghep
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	1. Exile song

Books, tomes, and a bottle surrounded me, a pungent smell of ink swarmed my room, papers were settled on the rustic wood of a desk. The composition more appropriate to a swirl of a tornado, than a proper space of writing

The pleasant smell was offset by the dim light of the room, candles illuminating the desk, the shape of shadows of the darkest tones meandering at my desk, playing with the unoccupied whites of the blank page. Because of it, my focus was on painting the shapes of the Plegian abugida, a flowy and Arabic script in stark contrast to the more rustic and sharper Latin alphabet.

The simple room I was in was made of uncomfortable, black perforating stones, with no windows to be found nor the mark of simple decoration. A spartan room made to make even the most resilient of men go mad and reveling in its own suffocating atmosphere. A perfect dungeon to the enemies of the state, but my safehouse in the chaotic where I now live.

There was some furniture indicating it to be a normal room and not a pitch-black prison. An untidy yet comfy bed with a green mattress, which I had long stopped caring to tidy up; a wardrobe that I barely used, the sole item being kept inside a forgotten knife with an unknown owner; a mirror for which I had to use a torch/a candle to be able to see myself (sometimes I didn't care and gazed without any light); and the aforementioned desk and a chair to sit.

There was no clock or device capable of counting time, not even the most broken of a sand clock or sun clock adorned the place, despite this small hamper, I could tell lunch had already passed, the sounds of the steps of the crowd indicating it for me from the other side the door facing my desk. Audible and constant enough to mark the time, such it was routine.

I daily wrote down the memories of things and events I had back home: the usual tales of scandals of corruption, the bombastic news on every screen I could find, the banter of friends, whose memories I had enough to remember, and yet, not enough to fully appreciate.

I remembered notes that often swung in the air to create melodies and chords, the music of the old masters: Scriabin, Rachmaninoff, Satie, and many others. The feeling of waking up in drowsiness and seeing the sun irradiate in its magnitude, and hear the birds sing a beautiful melody. How I wished I could be back there.

Back home, I remembered the lines of the poem in which every adult, teen, and child heard and teachers overused to the point of being a parody. Paying attention to the class of literature had been worth it, as I could remember the first strophe and the two verse of the last strophe of it

Minha terra tem palmeiras / My land has palm trees

Onde canta o sabiá. / Where the thrush sings.

As aves que aqui gorjeiam/ The birds that sing here

Não gorjeiam como lá./ Do not sing as they do there.

Não permita Deus que eu morra / May God never allow

Sem que eu volte para lá; / That I die before I return;

I kept reciting to myself fragments of poems, as much as devotee prays to their gods, the few links I had from home. I wonder how much the world has changed since I became stuck here. How I miss it

Putting aside these ramblings, it had been a year since my non-consensual arrival by means of teleportation to the fictional game world that became my "home". I remembered how jarring the whole ordeal was. I was coming from my home, a place of sunny days and humid climate, the day was as bright as it could get, my dumb ass deciding it was a good idea to be wearing pants and jacket, only to be suddenly thrown into an arid desert where almost nothing grew, and dunes surrounded the scenery while the pale moon stared back at me in the blue-tinted starred sky. There wasn't a single sign of how I was teleported, nor a single trace of dust.

Equipped with only a backpack and some liters of water from the bottle I had, I was left to my own devices to survive the inhospitable land. It was surprising how long I lasted before I found someone. Days, weeks had passed without a glimpse or remains of civilization. But I was thankful that some days after the start of my grueling journey, a caravan found me, picked me up, and led me to a city nearby.

Maybe out of pity, or maybe for second intentions, I was able to enter the caravan and follow them on their typical trek. It was a failure.

The first contact with people after a long time was awkward. Neither of us could understand the language of the other. I was under the scorching sun, sweating like there was no tomorrow. My clothes dirtied with all the sand that the desert could muster at the time.

Because of my lack of any knowledge of the language or its costumes, I can safely say, not even a single connection or conversation was made in that week. Only the usual stares. It didn't help, but every time it happened I thought to myself that I could socialize and even make bonds with these people. I crashed down to halt before even trying, with the cold sensation on my belly always following every time I thought of making the imaginary mistakes, the anxiety consumed me. In the end, I don't think I even tried and promptly waited for vestiges of civilization.

After the weird weeks, we finally arrived in a city. It was a rather small-sized one, and not very impressive, there was nothing remarkable. I don't even remember a single landmark in the city to the best of my ability. With the sole exception of a small palace, one which, despite the small size compared to the likes of Versailles, dwarfed anything the place could offer.

I kept my mouth shut as we bravely strode to the destination, and for the first time, it dawned on me I was in for the long haul.

Once we approached the place, I started noticing more details before we entered. I could see the few pleasures of my trip, the architecture was something any prying wanderer or artist could marvel at. One great dome, which could scratch the skies, with tones of sky blue complementing the piece. Inside, the walls were decorated with navy blue, purple, and black mixing to become flowers contrasting with each other, sometimes I thought it was pulsing like an artery. I eliminated the thought from my mind. Looking back, I should have really noticed earlier, but nobody believes in magic until seeing the real deal.

I was led to a room. The first thing that came to my mind was how elaborated the whole carpet was woven, a story was clearly being told there. A shame I barely remember. I was intimidated by the whole ordeal. I found the nearest place where I could mix, a pointless endeavor, as my clothes told everyone where I was.

At the farther end, there was a throne encrusted with precious stones, and from what I could see a very comfy pillow cushion was also there. Sitting at the top was a man, a surprising uncomfortable smile in his black-bearded face, his pale tone more fitting of a man from the far north than someone who lives in a desert. His clothes were black with gold details in its fabric.

And the meeting between the leader of the caravan and the person started, with me anxious as ever, barely knowing whether what they were discussing was me or any other matter related to the merchant's products. The atmosphere of the room was tense, it was like a cold war, each man staring against the other, and shouts of arguments being thrown at every moment.

After a while, some hours perhaps, the nagging and discussion leading upon had an effect, The patriarch graciously accepted me to live there as a guest, or what I thought it was at that time. His guards picked me up and led me to a simple room with a bed, a small window, and a desk, with new clothes being prepared for me starting living with them. I didn't know why he had such a change of heart, but nowadays I can see his objective from miles away.

I want to slap myself for not noticing earlier were I was, everything in the place was screaming, the place was out of the touch, a normal bed, black clothes, the obsession with the color purple, the paleness of the man, everything was telling me, but the idiot that I am thought everything was alright and these were normal people.

So living there wasn't exactly a piece of cake. Despite being told I was living in the guest quarters, I had to do something to not quickly become a burden to them and be the guy who munched on their food as a parasite fests on the food of others.

Because of my lack of knowledge with everything Plegia-related, I became an errand boy for them, picking up items from the city to give to the mages of the place, while in exchange I was taught the local language, and learned the patriarch was called Ibrahim and is the head of clan Fatimid. In all honesty, I was an unofficial servant of the family, something which quickly would be changed at the end of some random date where I would have been invited to present myself as the newest servant.

While I waited until the deadline, I prepared myself for the meeting with the best of my abilities, trying to reduce the accent, acting as formal as I possibly could, and giving an air of some trustworthy robot rather than a person.

While I waited outside for the guard to call me in and enter the room where Ibrahim and his most loyal advisors were, I noticed someone passing through with a face somewhat familiar. A person with dark hair and eyes that begged to be alone, her aura threatening anyone who dared to look, and the pale complexion of someone close to death. While gazing at her, a slow epiphany came to fruition in my mind, wondering why I was feeling a sensation of dejavú. And then it dawned on me: it was Tharja, and I was in Fire Emblem Awakening.

Immediately, my face got even wetter with a cold sweat coming out, tremors conquering my body and legs readying themselves to escape the foul beast that was the pale lady. And besides that, the usual way my belly communicated to me the fright of meeting new people and presenting to them. Analogous to the shivers of getting stuck in a trap, while a predator gazes while capable of doing nothing but wait.

I had probably been glaring for some time because she had turned her head, and with her eyes told me to stop watching her, brows furrowed with annoyance, lips closed, her hands clinging to her book, her most prized possession, no doubt. This meant one thing: stop watching her, you weirdo. And so I did.

Thankfully, a servant opened the door and signed for me to enter, ending my awkward first meeting with the dark mage.

Upon entering the meeting room, the Patriarch stood at the center, with the matriarch at his side and some of his advisors in place. The room was filled with a mosaic of unreadable texts etched into the walls, and the very same carpet as the throne room. The walls were made of the finest rocks and the carpet made with the silkiest of clothes one could hope to find. The way they made my inner parnassian very happy.

But make no mistake, despite the splendor of the place, the atmosphere was anything but fine. I was meeting with my new boss, and any little mistake I made could kill all my chances of getting it and have at least a return of normalcy to my life.

After some eternal vertiginous minutes, Ibrahim said, "Greetings, dear guest. As you must be aware, we called you here to see if you are becoming part of our prestigious clan or not. Before anything, state your name, that of the being who graces the room at this very moment."

His honeyed word had a hidden test: whether I knew how to bow or not.

I gulped under those words. If I didn't get it right, I would be stuck with no way to survive.

"Calm down, do not worry, just say to the best of your abilities what purpose you could fill to serve us, besides, of course, your name," he said in the somewhat warm tones of a father that every day prayed for his child to succeed.

"My lord, my name is Gabriel Raimundo Bilac. You know I am a very quick learner. In these few months, I was capable of learning your language. I can do requests exactly as you wish. As of yet, my gratitude is immeasurable, and I want to keep serving your family," I replied.

At the end of this simple talk, I realized that I was not capable of getting the job done right, as my speech was very simple, but alas the only response was: ''Welcome," I nodded in accordance and got out of the chamber in the direction of my room.

I was now a servant of the clan, and such was how it was for about three months, always helping with what I could do. Despite my accent being a mess, and having to relearn the expressions used by the people here and how hand expression works in the region, I got around just fine, from what I could gather. Foreigners who know the language and the culture are so far in between, I was cut a slack. Still, stares were commonplace, and it didn't escape my ears the insults of some nobles. I even learn some dark magic along the way. Still not enough to be considered a mage, though, only to understand a little bit of it.

And looking back, I'm surprised how quickly the whole meeting for a job interview was. Only a brief question and that was it. Nothing more, nothing less. There was something fishy to the whole ordeal, nobody gets a position from merely answering a question. I wasn't even capable of using dark magic, and every single servant was somewhat capable, but for that time I was happy having a secured roof to sleep under.

One day out of the bloom, Tharja's father, the same Ibrahim, made me her retainer to our utter surprise. At this point, we didn't interact with each other, besides usual item fetching, normal to anyone working with a dark mage. She had a private conversation after his announcement, and before long she accepted. Now I had to endure her creepiness. And as if that wasn't enough, he surprised us again, by saying I was to be sent to the capital with her, becoming a man of the court, and that is how I've become familiar with all this mess.

Seven months have since passed. The court isn't for the weak of heart or the weak of will either. In other words, adapt or die. People betraying each other was a common occurrence, and even in my first week, they already tried to kill me. I was spared, but let's say a very racist noble didn't like my face and tried to kill me.

His death wasn't painless. Although the death of a noble would be very much a headache later down the line, and a spelled disaster to me. How the heck could a foreigner in all senses of the word survive after something like that? The simple fact is I'm connected with Tharja's clan, the Fatimid. They are my solution to every problem I have with someone. I know this can get me very much killed, but since the incident, I don't go outside the room often, so in the past seven months, nothing serious happened.

Anyways, I finished the daily writing session, putting the paper in a pile. I got up from my uncomfortable chair, making some stretches to dull the pain for a bit, and got to the mirror, picking up the candle. I lit some torches and put them back to the desk. The mirror was rather small, going up to my neck. Despite the torch, the only details I could gather was my face.

The marks of the sleepless nights didn't fade, but rather they grew every day, stain claiming both sides of the eye, sunk by the lack of relaxation or any time for true rest. The lights it once had faded long ago, now only an empty organ.

The hair wasn't in a better state either. It was in a rather messy state. I don't remember the last time I cleaned or cut it anymore. Strands going everywhere at least aren't falling apart as of yet, so I am not as ugly as I could be.

Every time I looked at this decrepit face, I wondered how I was alive and how much I had lost in those seven months. My sleep schedule was all over the place. By the first month, I didn't sleep at all out of fear for my life. After I discovered I could lock the door, I did it every day, no matter what. Now I could sleep, but with the sole problem of waking up at very random times or not sleep at all. There really was no pattern I could find, but still an improvement nonetheless.

Also before sleep, I always looked under the bed for any trickery. I've long known that they can't summon a creature from pure shadows, but as the usual saying goes., old habits die hard.

I could sleep, draw, or do many other things, but the doors were always kept locked, no matter what. I could not afford another person setting their filthy foot in this safe haven. The few times I had to get out was either to buy something from merchants like water, food, and ingredients or something interesting or to work with Tharja.

A knock on the door, probably Tharja, or some guard announcing dinner or something. I unlocked the door and opened it, revealing the dark mage and my "master", Tharja. As usual, the absurd amount of light behind her blinded me, but my eyes quickly recovered from the rays of destruction called light.

Tharja looked at me with the same indifference she always had for people she knew, and with an indifferent voice she matter-of-factly stated "I have a new curse to the test,"

I responded with the usual "Ok."

So as with any good "assistant", I followed her, going in the direction to her room. Our relationship, if you want to call it that, was of mutual interest: I worked as the lab rat for her experiments and curses, while she in return covered any of my track and acted as a shield and ears for any intrigue happening in the court against me, something I had yet to find why.

In the "contract" we made, for every testing, experiment, stop for buying ingredients, or anything resembling a learning experience, I got a week of rest. Of course, in the duration of that contract, there were some exceptions, but as I often say, every rule must have an exception. Besides, our contract made the two sides very happy. I could stay in my room all I wanted and not deal with the stress of dealing with the court for anything, freeing me to do anything, and she got a fixed test subject for anything she wanted to test and didn't need to relay without other people.

But as this often works, it didn't change the infamous stares that I kept receiving and the small talk that was normal with these kinds of people. If I am being honest, I wouldn't have received any if I had been some small servant of hers, the kind that picks up food and drinks for their master. Instead, to their eyes, especially dark mages ones, I was the random foreign guy, whose mastery of the dark arts was zero to none, and kept screwing up in the language department and yet, had the privilege and "pleasure" to work with one of the most prodigious mages of recent memory.

Also, I got a personal room, a rarity here, and If I know something, they can only complain and do not much harm and are very predictable, the same insults all over again and again, "the mad guy of Fatimid's", " the guy who doesn't speak"," the stupid outsider" etc. At least be a little original, how about "cheap imitation of Anakin hate for sand" or even better "you are nothing"

...

Moving on, it's not only my likeness that is insulted but also that of my clan, thinking they went mad for contracting such a savage. I remember that dead noble saying something like, "They are so decadent they are using foreigners to save their asses" or something like that. Anyways, I dispelled such thoughts for the moment and focused on the task at hand.

Her room was located a few minutes away from mine, so we got there quickly. Despite its closeness, hers was bigger and better than mine in every aspect. She had two entire bookshelves filled with tomes, and that is not counting the other shelves filled with religious books. A small cauldron for curses or hexes which needs very specific rules to be properly spelled, a bigger bed with better wool than mine, although tainted with a purple dye, and a window with a curtain she always kept on. Her desk was just as filled as mine, with the difference being the former was a thousand times bigger and was filled with very advanced tomes that I couldn't even begin to phantom wrapping my head around

The place was very dark as usual. A room that isn't too bright and with low visibility is a trademark of people of her craft since dark magic tends to have a better result in dark areas, especially when testing new things. There was some theory behind it, like some symbolic stuff about the clouds of unknowing, and to learn stuff, you must be surrounded by the darkness of it, and some more, but frankly I didn't bother to remember any more of it.

For me, it always felt like a placebo effect. I didn't feel any difference trying to use some really basic dark magic, which even toddlers learn, and the first time someone showed me a spell was in the middle of the bright and scorching sun. But maybe I should cut them some slack. I haven't even begun the proper studies of dark magic, so I didn't have any right to speak on this matter.

"Wait a moment, I have to pick up the tome," she ordered, and so I went to her bed and sat since she allowed me to do it. She picked up the book and started flipping through the pages until she found the curse in question. Slowly, she started reciting it.

At first, the words were discernible from each other, my ear capable of catching the meaning of each sound.

I didn't feel my senses changing in any way. I could still see her as clear as day, (or rather as it was possible at that moment), she and the room retained the same smell, I could feel my limbs and my heart beating on rhythm, indicating everything was in place.

But as time passed, her reciting became weirder and weirder, with the order of the words in the sentence changed at random, with verbs, object, and subject going all over the place, like: "The man him like was will eating." or sentences of only verbs or adjectives.

And then a second layer appeared, now with words of other languages mixed in "Aquele toshokan écrit on sujeito de zhongguó qui became a taberu, está free ga on existe matjar."

And the last layer was pure unadulterated gibberish. So much so in fact, that one wouldn't be wrong to think a person hit the keyboard with his head or was reading Finnegan somehow.

"Gfnifisdj nafuaindsj anlds ndsalfjasd lsfna dldjsn dska lamdl"

Truly a beautiful sentence!

"I don't understand anything that you're saying,"I spoke as loud and clear as possible. In response, a little smile appeared on her face, different from her usual aloofness, only to be shut down and the gloom of her usual frown replacing it.

She dispelled the curse and quickly said: "You are free now, bye."

The cold answer reverberated my ears, making me happy my weekly duty was finished and I could do other stuff.

"Oh, bye," I said and then left her room, entering the dark saffron colored hallways.

I went to my room, and saw a smiling … white-headed man. Why did he have to be right here right now? I tried to ignore him and go back to my room but the bastard must have noticed because when I turned my head to see if he was following, I saw him slowly walking to me, with his arm always pointing at me and a wicked smile that hid his true intentions.

The few times I spoke with him, he was just a crazy man as the game had said. Whenever he opened his eyes, it was always like a predator analyzing his surroundings, always seeking the next prey to arrive and slowly eat it. There were reasons people normally avoided him. His crows, which I believed he used for spying or something similar, and that followed him like their puppeteer didn't help.

And I realized something: he would catch me and wouldn't let me go back to my room until I finally did the deed and spoke with him. With the slow breath, I prepared for the worst.

I stopped in my steps and he reached me. As he did so, my eyes averted his gaze. To maintain it would be a painful task, with his glare piercing my flesh as if it was nothing, revealing every single part of my being to him.

"Hiya, Gabriel, how are you doing?" He starts with his usual playful tones, which reminds me of a little bit of the Joker.

"Fine," a simple reply to a simple man.

"Just fine? Okay then. I would just like to say that I've tested some new corpses, very fresh with their little organs intact and voila, with some nice hexes, the corpse arose from their slumber. And attacked. The blood was something else, kyahaha," He laughs at the only thing in life he seems to care about: guts and death.

"Okay, then.", I said, keeping my poker face intact like a stone.

"Why maintaining such a poker face, not afraid of death, are ya?" He said with a cold tone, leaving no trace of his disguise, revealing his true self.

"Well, I have to go right now," I quickly replied. If the conversation lasted any longer, I did not want to know what would happen to my body.

"if you want to keep it whatever, see ya, bye. I need to see the organs of my experiments, hee hee," He replied, going back to his more "normal" form and acquiescing himself from going any further, while promptly ignoring my answer. He must have noticed my unease, but still, I didn't really know what he truly thought.

"Bye," I replied as always.

Phew, wouldn't stand to be near that guy even a moment more than necessary.

Henry, Henry, Henry, one of the most prodigious dark mages in a sea of new golden students of dark magic. The man who destroyed a whole village for killing his dog with that very same smiling face. Not to say he is John Wick or something, but you must have some screws loose in your head to massacre an entire place like that.

Anyways, I go back to my quarters and lock the door as always. That afternoon was already tiring as it is. If I want to keep up the façade, my batteries need to recharge. I go straight to bed and let my eyes close, for I need any rest that I can take.

* * *

A knock wakes me up.

Wait, they didn't say there is going to be an event or something similar today. I prepare for the worse, I pick up one of the many books I have, and use as a makeshift shield, very dumb

I unlock the door.

A soldier, whose height makes me look smaller than a hobbit, looks down at me, with his scarred old face and grey ashen hair showing his age. Probably a veteran of the Ylissean invasion and one of the few lucky bastards that survived that massacre.

He looked at me as if he saw rotten fruit with larvae and fungi everywhere, a face of disgust as clear as water. He was probably wondering why he should respond to this barbarian that somehow entered court and was in a better state than him.

His shadow makes me impotent, engulfing me into a darkness that I would rather avoid. Ok Gabriel, if you want to survive, keep a note on him. Also, I put the book back in place.

At the same time, I could hear the steps of people going out, the murmurs, and talks of folks whose surprises were apparent by the many loud questions they asked, and how disorganized the sounds were. They were an orchestra without their maestro, a complete utter mess.

In a very dismissive tone, he says "There is an event happening in the halls. You have to go there," his grubby finger points to the crowd, to which I reply with a simple nod, and come out of the room, with him reluctantly giving me passage to go there.

The rays attack my eyes again. Man, I really should keep at least my room a little bit more lightning after this, I need to diminish the effect of it in my eyes. I look in the corridor and, to my utter dismay, the number of people walking was enough to fill a can of sardine, and I would be the next one. Cringing, I go along with the crowd.

In the crowd, I'm amazed and horrified by the ways these intellectuals move and act. Once their initial confusion is lost, they start to move like a march of ants: mindlessly focusing only on the task made by the rhythmic sound of steps and almost silent conversation. They feel more like workers in a factory line rather than pompous nobles. I retract my comment of this being a mess, this is even worse: an organized mess.

In the mind of everyone doing this hellish march, there was a lingering question: what is going to be next in the King's line of thinking, or even the Grimleal. The only thing we were called here is for this reunion, and nothing else.

For myself, the same question is being complimented right now, for the seven months I had been here, there wasn't something like this before. Even asking more senior members, whose face was always with their smug sense of superiority, if asked such reunion, they would be laughing calling you, a boorish military, at least, I can have the satisfaction of them being shut off for a minute at least.

But now, out of the bloom, with no warning or even a small sign for why there is, I realize, their marches aren't of an indoctrinated kind, but rather of fear. Their rhythm is very unsteady, denouncing their horror. Some are going as if it was a march, with their ones and twos, while some approach as if this is some kind of tango and I kid you not, there is a guy somehow counting the rhythm as if it is prog rock or jazz with one, two, three, four and five. How can you screw up this so badly?

Along the way, the familiar face of Tharja appears. I start slowly approaching her, making large steps, to get closer to her. It's better to be with a devil you know than to be with the one you don't. Her bafflement isn't etched not to her face, which kept the usual cold exterior, but rather the loose care with which she held her book too uncharacteristic of a person who thinks her best friends are tomes of dark magic.

"Hey Tharja, do you know what the hell is happening ?" I ask her, for the faint hope that she knew the answer, despite my mind saying otherwise.

"I don't really know, but something is creeping, otherwise the dark aura surrounding me wouldn't be so strong," she replies,

The event is going to be big and its shockwaves will determine our future in it.

"A person probably," I say, joking a little bit to calm at least a few of my nerves.

"Of course, who else could it be?" she replies with an annoyed tone and I shut myself up for the rest of the walk.

Looking around the saffron-colored hallway, the torches are always going in the same intervals, the ceiling that is made of wood and was etched at every corner with the principal symbol of this religion. Statues of old heroes are becoming a constant also, the tales of people who fought for Plegia and saved it from their enemies, dying along the way to make the nation prevail against all odds.

If Christianity has the cross, Islam the star and the crescent and Judaism the star of David, the Grimleals has the mark of Grima. The purple color indicating that it was a religion of corruption in the game's logic, is put everywhere: in the walls, the ceiling, in the books.

The corridor became purple-colored, losing the saffron nature it once had, the torches becoming scarce until only darkness remains. Then a priest of the Grimleal appears and leads our steps towards our sacred duty. I hear them muttering sacred words as the world receives light again.

After some walking and walking and walking nonstop, we finally arrive at the darn main hall. The whole walk feels like it lasted an eternity to me, my state of being suffocating by the infernal march to our meeting place, a giant hall with four pillars.

The hall was made with the sole intent of making big announcements, so it is enormous, capable of holding a religious ceremony, a royal party, ball, and it even had a little space for a small orchestra of about 40 musicians to play in.

It is rectangular, and the gigantic stairway is the principal feature of the room, capable of making any ruler that was at the top of it a god by the mere virtue of the height and the acoustics of the room that made for a special place to say a speech or anything like that.

The place is quickly filling up, making the sensation of being at a massive rally of a political party (or more accurately like a canned sardine). With every single square centimeter being occupied, the density of the room is more than the entirety of Kowloon city and Hong Kong combined.

And alas, with all the folk combined, the only thing that I could see was the upper echelon of the place and walls and a dome. The dome is painted with a depiction of Grima, his figure being destroyed by two heroes, that was depicted as eviler than thou, with a cruel smile in their face, mocking the dragon who had made all efforts to fight against them, only to be turned into a pile of goo and the heroes getting away scot-free.

After that, the painting continues. The image after is of followers making a gigantic procession towards the center of it, with cloud stormings with all their mighty and massive black figures with purple eyes rising from it to end it all. That was Grima and the probable future that will happen If his plan goes right.

Following the game's timeline, Validar had presumably got the Hierophant by now and was preparing his next step towards his goal. So it was only a matter of time before the war broke out and I could escape from this hell and join the Shepherds. Not to say I didn't like staying, but I much preferred people with actual sanity instead of madmen with genocide plans that would backfire and a lunatic with a goal of the end of times. The plan is going just fine, just as expected.

While I wait, I could see the royal figure of a tall man with a bored look on his face, eyes gazing in search of something to catch his interest, fallen lips that were being affected by gravity because their owner couldn't be bothered to care of maintaining a façade, and hair that represented the essence of his kingdom. A place with bright scenery, but with an underbelly that would make Gotham blush. In the end, Gangrel hopes it will end as soon as possible, and the worst part of it all, I am relating to him somehow.

The nobles all around are talking within themselves, making a sound analogous to someone stabbing my ears with my knife. In general, I hated these loud places with a passion, they only made me more distracted and made my whole effort of making a convincing act go out of the window while analyzing people's expressions became way harder than it already is.

Next to me, Tharja is rather annoyed. Her eyes gazing into nothing, waiting to curse the king for making this sudden announcement, while she was working in her new hexes, or curse, or whatever is on her mind.

I realize Gangrel is in the upper echelon, with the major dark mages families patriarch and leaders of clans of the land sitting in highly decorated chairs, each seat tailored for each one of them.

And up there I see Tharja's father, waiting patiently for the announcement to start. I must have been gazing at him so hard because when I turn my head I see a face with eyes so wide that it could easily fall off his face and mouth so agape that a thousand insects could enter his mouth at any moment. Realizing that I saw his face, he quickly turns his head and ignores his daughter in the crowd.

Finally, a dark man with the height of the mountain appeared, lanky as a toothpick, and healthy enough to sport some developed musculature. On his bearded face, a permanent grin is sculpted and his eyes look down at us, seeing the crowd as mere ants that are meant to be nothing but a sacrifice. It was Validar alright and nothing of him changed.

His loyal right hand wasn't with him, a weird fact considering that she was with him all the time. The few times I saw the man before, she was glued to him, but alas today she wasn't. Remember Gabriel, there was always an exception to the rules. Always.

With a voice so deep that it could scare away even the most ferocious of lions, the great priest of the Grimleals, starts his speech: "O followers of the Fell Dragon, the one who dared challenge Naga to create a new world, at utmost importance, I've discovered the new vessel of Grima, capable of holding our god in eternity and fulfilling our destiny."

The whole room goes into collective confusion making everyone, even for a little bit, from the smallest of merchants to the nobles to the most prestigious member of the clans become alike at least in something.

Around me, Tharja stands with a confused face, her mouth agape and eyebrows raised, closing her mouth she scowls and mutters for herself "how could they tell such lies," with eyes glaring at such an affront to her religion. Until now, from what they told me the idea of the vessel had died for good in the Grimleal community. And yet, here is the most important member of it, claiming the contrary, against the consensus of all people involved in it.

The only people whose mouths aren't agape were me, the King, and Henry, whose hair is easily distinguishable from everyone in the room. All of us with almost the same reason. Gangrel only cares if this could help anyway in his killing the verdant green of Ylisse; Henry can't care less about humanity and his only friends are his crows; and me, who knows it is supposed to happen.

An aura spreads to the place making the pressure of the room gigantic, announcing its arrival for everybody to see, shutting up everyone who's against it, gobbing our souls as its fuel source, feeling bigger and bigger at every moment until it somehow broke and breathable air reappears, resting us for what the hell is going to be next.

My mouth opens, What creature or thing can such a thing besides a monster !?

Then a lady with white hair marches with her Grimleal garbs, steady, not missing a single step. Her beauty encapsulates everyone's attention, robbing all of us with our breath. Tharja loses her scowls, eyebrows relax from the tension, her skepticism evaporates from her. Now her face stays marveled, wonder fills her eyes, while devotion starts to hold and become every part of her being both in flesh and soul. I can only stand in horror while seeing the birth of a new part of Tharja.

One last time Gabriel, let's see Grima for what is. Her expression is what I call the Fell Dragon, the eyes of a child having the contacts with the numerous wonders being presented for the first time. Despite her march from earlier, a smile ear to ear comes to her, stretching her arms, she signs at the audience, commemorating, happy as one possibly can be. wait, is that Grima, where is the disgust and the arrogance, where, where !?

The world explodes, the crowd's claims for their messiah, their once tasteful apprehension stopping, the rest of the fuel to pray and claim the creature who will the world. My eyes distort, while the world stops to make sense

It isn't Grima. No, of course, it isn't. It is the twin-tailed albino tactician, Robin.


	2. Chapter 2

It's isn't possible, isn't it? Robin would never belong to them, right, right?! Didn't her mother take her to Ylisse, or my memories are confusing me !? This isn't supposed to happen, none of this is supposed to happen, what to make of my plans right now!? Something has to be done, something!

This isn't real. None of this is real, it is just a trick of the mind, trying to seed of discord in my mind, like many other times, of course, it's an illusion, right, a fucked up dream, the typical one I'm having for a while, I will wake up as other, and my plans will stay the same, and I will be back home in no time, right, right!?

Of course, I overanalyzed as typical of me, an idiot, one who can barely hold back even for single fucking moment, instead of seeing as it is, your mind must think is Grima playing some trick, deceiving, preparing for his return, isn't, isn't it!?

Why isn't the world crumbling, distorting or boiling, this is a nightmare, so why the world stays the same, why isn't changing, please, change. I want to get out, please I want to get out here, I don't care what Grima does or not, please just leave me alone, and shut up, every one of this fucking people who are cheering for this hell.

I look at the faces of people around me, they aren't blurry, I look at the dome, they aren't blurry. Nothing is blurry for god's sake! For the final time, I pinch myself to confirm if this is reality. I feel the dull pain and confirm to my horror, yes this was reality and there is nothing to escape, nothing! I want this to be a dream, I need this to be a dream, but of course, reality doesn't bulge and I'm stuck in this hell.

Tharja is standing beside me, becoming one with the crowd. Despite her not muttering a single word, there is this smile, one which she never sported, with an intensity of a bright sun on a warm day. This doesn't feel right at all, This is completely wrong, how is this even possible ?! How?! How could this person smile at this horror! HOW ?! I

I stop gazing at her and I start to see my surroundings again, more notably, to watch the reaction of the upper echelon and to my dismay. All of them are impressed, Ibrahim, my former boss, or my rather temporary boss is having the time of his life, compared to this fuckin idiot here. A subtle smirk marking his face, relaxed eyebrows that were relieved, to say he was pleased would be an understatement, the guy is screaming with joy, just composing himself to nobody pay attention to it. The monster, who beforehand put in this damned place in the first place, I hate you!

Their sounds stab and perforate, each sound destroying my legs getting more and more squishy over time, barely capable of holding themselves while the worlds turn around so much, their dizzying sounds invade my mind.

I look at the palms of my hands, they tremble as the cacophony increases, the sounds of reality, and fiction blend. I put my hands in my ears, as I try to stop the incoming noises. I grab my head with all the forces I can muster, the head being pressure between two forces, eyes closing and scratches being made along its base, in its futile attempt to stop it, to stop this hell!

I hate all of this, everything up to this point was sticking to plan, an event happening like in the game. In no time, I would get out of this madness, and escape to the shepherds or a saner leadership this time, instead of listening to the ramblings of a mad genocidal maniac, or go anonymous and try to figure out myself a way back home or at least live in peace! But no, none of had to this happen, of course, it would be a way too easy, of course not, it would have to be the worst option possible.

And to finalize this agonizing portrait stood at the center of attention, Robin, who now belongs to the Grimleal, a sickening smile grazed her face, a victorious grin towards a future that shall not be stopped, the true end of the time as we know it. Her perceptive red eyes were filled with an unthirsty joy while drinking the essence of the atmosphere of glory in this hateful place.

It was not only for delight she is using her for, at every movement of ours she perceives as if we're standing right in front of her. Judging us if we're worthy or not, eyebrows, and the almost robotic way her head moved, going left to right, in motion to see the emotion of the general public, and what possible use we can have, no doubt, this is the end for me!

Cacete, I am stuck, aren't I? I am not going home anytime soon, any chance of escape is minimal at best, fuck, fuck, fuck. Why it had to be me, of all people, there is no plan, I fucking hate of all this. I can feel my veins boiling over, their sound spreading through the entire brain, face contorting to a scrawl and saliva getting out of my darn mouth! Oh boy, I have to get out here before this meltdown becomes public knowledge.

My body only moves without any care, my leg going from zero to one hundred, I stumble with people along the way without care. Struggling and grabbing people to get out of this hell. I cannot afford a meltdown, not right now! Not when everybody is here, and a single slip could kill me! the air getting more and more denser and unbreathable, the suffocating breath of the people stumble only getting worse at every step, I could kill if I cared enough, I have to get out of here now!

As I get out of the massive Crowd, I realize a painful gaze. I turn my head while going to the corridor and my eyes meet with her's. What a painful experience it is. There is always something weird when unknown eyes watch you from afar, especially when they hide something and quietly judge, and you have nothing, but to look at the ground to alienate the pain.

In her eyes, there is this air of judgment, like a judge passing the final sentence to the poor defendant. Pity is also there, sadly looking at me, as the little dying animal that I am, but also there something so cold, so analytical, trying to see all my weakness and succeeding at it, unlike her many peers. I don't like this gaze, I don't like any of this, please stop doing that, it only hurts, I beg please be merciful, just stop the gaze!

I don't care anymore, I turn my head back and a run through the corridor, the sound reverberating the entire hallways as guards looking at me, at their maddening eyes. The guards, walls, and everything single this thing on this damned world blurs. Making this an incomprehensible place, where fiction and reality meet, suffocating everyone that participates in this godforsaken existence!

I arrive in my room, a splitting headache makes it hold, one capable of my skull being opened apart. In the end, there is a lovely combination of drowsiness and stupid shame. I slam the door and lock until I could do no more. Forcing the lock, until I am certain, nobody in this world can enter, even with dark magic.

I fall to my knee, the rage inside slowly dying, succumbing even. Until the recent memory floods my mind and I lose control again. Why, why couldn't I control this fuckign part of me again ?! You had one simple task, yet you failed, you fucking idiot you don't know even how to control yourself, how to plan the escape, Filho da puta, do think people will saving your fuckin ass, you are special enough for that. Now you are just a mentally ill bastard that somehow survived, in other words, you are fucking nothing, but a fucking waste of breathable air in this fucking world!

The fist clenches, a punch soon followed at my skull, plak, the sounds reverberate, as more and more come and feelings arrive, the more frequent they come, plak plak plak, the sickening sound goes to mock, the bluntness hurt and everything hurts, until the final and the most intense come, and there is only pain. PLAK PLAK Plak PLak. saliva is vomited out my body, the throat gets dry, eyes cry and the only thing left is nothing.

The barrage is stopped, the aftermath is followed with a dull sensation of pain, slowly residing, quickly being left to be forgotten. But the shame fills the rest of my episode, more painful than a thousand knives in the back, more powerful than any of these punches combined and terrible as a sword stuck in the guts.

The only thoughts in my mind left, is of this shame, the feeling of lifting bare in the world, to be mocked at, to feel powerless. To feel an effort amounts to nothing. And realize that even the best of things and in the end to be left with your good old friend shame.

This shame wasn't any of this. but worst of it all. To see the loss of self-control, that is the worst kind of shame anyone can have, the one you can't avoid no matter what. One so ingrained so deep, that if you lost it, it wouldn't be yourself anymore. But another person, something you can never be.

With the pitiful strength left. I crawl towards my bed, the flesh and clothing grinding together, to fall to the only space where I can feel some kind of comfort and be warm for the night. I hide in the green mattress.

There was nothing left in my thoughts but static. The feeling of being a prisoner in your own skull and being left nothing to do. Only capable of seeing the dark, and being nothing. Sleep comes and I forget the existence of this world.

* * *

A migraine wakes me up, another dreamless night like many others. My body and mind exhausted, without any energy to make even the simplest of tasks, the mattress comforts me, with the silky texture easing a little bit of my tiredness.

I don't want to get up off my bed, I want this world to disappear and be stuck in this comfort. But sooner or later, I have to face reality, so to make this any more painful than it already is. I start stretching my arm, little by little energy comes back, and what seemed an insurmountable task of getting up, feels more like a difficult task, my legs reaccustoming with the hard ground.

Picking up a candle, I put some fire and lit up the torches encrusted in the walls, Making the room visible now. putting into the desk, I go to my mirror and do a daily check-up, the bags are still the same as ever.

I get to my bag sitting beside the desk and I open it. Revealing the contents inside: my phones, my books, and the clothes I had when I was suddenly teleported, The only memories from back home. Gripping my phone, the same old black mirror gazes at me, the memory of simple time flooding into me, the countless times I wasted listening to music or reading some PDFs. I wished I had to pick up some anima magic to have it back. If I get back, oh boy, It will be album jam time, Some Charles Mingus never hurts, also listening to some good old swans will be a godsend. Well, I got a little bit ahead of myself, still have to get the darn thing working.

Putting the phone back on the bag, I reach out for books. They are in a dreadful state of the organization, big in between two small ones, small one between big ones, books inside books quite literally, and books of other languages randomly put with no sense of language being respected.

I grab the stash and put above the desk, against the tomes and dark magic theory. Their modern covers with colorful images and imaginative font juxtaposing with more laconic and reserved covers of the plegian books. A smell from when I used to live back home comes, an alkaline smell gracing and covering this little dungeon of mine. How much I've missed them.

I begin to organize them into the order of thickness and page quantity, putting every type with their type. It has been a long time since I organized my stuff now. I glance at my small work, now the desk is much better organized, It looks clean now.

I wonder which I will pick up to read first. Should I start the door stoppers again? With their massive, sprawling worlds and larger than life characters, like Zhivago, Raskolnikov, Riobaldo, and many others? Or goes with the smaller ones with a more laid back approach, but just as emotionally dense as the others, poets just like Baudelaire and Leminski, and writers, as Camus and company. Options, what I don't lack is options.

Before grabbing any of the books, my hand catches the other one. Man, get a hold of yourself, there are a lot of things to be done before I can read. We still have to damage control, and besides, I am very thirsty.

I pick up the bottle of water and approach to my dry mouth, the coldness of the material shocking my lips, but Instead of being graced with the refreshing liquid, an empty air comes. Oh no, there is no water left, I should have bought it days ago. I wonder if I am that stupid really.

Besides the inconvenient fact, another arrives, my stomach cries like the little annoying brat he is. I forgot to eat dinner yesterday, oh well… Oh no, I have to go out to the wilderness and face the people of the court again, what a pain in the butt it is, oh well if it has to be done, let just end the drama as quickly as possible, right, right?

Before I go out, I grab each one of my books and put them back in the bag. As much as I like the organized table, I cannot afford people prying into private matters, and besides time is ticking, and I don't think I cannot afford any more time right now.

I open the door.

People walk and loudly discuss the biggest revelation of yesterday, The so-called vessel appeared and not even day, and a big fuss is being made. Walking along a corridor, a bunch of priests, imans, or whatever you want to call it, decide it is a good idea to make a theological debate over the matter.

"You see, the soul of Grima needs someone powerful to hold it, despite their many mistakes over the years, we finally found the perfect vessel.", boastfully says the man, while another one just looks at him furious at such a claim.

"When it was said they found the perfect vessel !? You Messianic idiot, don't you remember twenty years ago, when the previous Messiah, Helid, told everyone he was the so-called vessel, and look at it, our holy theocracy was basically destroyed, and that is not even mentioning Makino, that idiot!", The orthodox man retorts. Ladies and gentlemen welcome to the flame wars of Plegia, orthodox vs messianic.

Goddammit, all I wanted is a silent morning, and that is ruined, well, at least nobody is paying attention to me.

And the discussion keeps going on and on. My fears of the center of attention were not well funded after all I guess, still, I do not ease, they kept screaming at each other, while us poor viewers, have to watch two old men fighting with each other. Thankfully, I arrive at the dining halls and don't need to hear two people screaming at each one.

Doesn't mistake me, the hall is as loud as ever, with the intellectuals and dark mage banter with themselves, and the whole debate of what happened. But compared to before, the place is serene. I pick up some meat and vegetables, not caring how the combinations of flavor are. Nothing really what I consider fancy, just another thing to fill the stomach. In all honesty, I just want to get out here as soon as possible and go back to my room.

With the plate set, I go on my quest to find Tharja or an empty seat with no one nearby. Walking along the lines, seeing many elaborate plate wares of me and my "compatriots", I keep asking myself, how the heck they made so many of this? Only to remember poetry exists in this world. I find Tharja munching on her meal, I wonder how her mood is…

I sit, she doesn't eye my presence, nor does grunt as she always does, with a remarkable indifference, I sit facing her and going on to eat the daily breakfast. She is happy, there is no sign of hostile, only the daily peace of going on a meal with the beautiful sound of peaceful silence

We chew our meal. Only glances are made here and there, just another meal as always. Not worrying, I go on to "swallow the plate" as both Tharja and mother said. I finish the meal before her as normal. I tap my fingers on the table while playing some old music I remember, doing some rhythmic variation and setting up another story in the head. Waiting for my "master" while she finishes her meal, just another etiquette to memorize.

When she finishes, I get up and go to the daily task of returning the plate before my master, a sign of non-education I always forget. " Wait for a moment.", she commands, I stop and go on to sit back again on the chair, her tone voice higher than usual and lacking the acidic content she often spats.

"Awful happy, today," I reply monotone, "Awful calm, to someone who had again an episode.", she strikes back, in a clear tone of mockery, more playful than anything serious. "Anyways, what do you want? Remember today is not my time with you." I remind her," Do you want me to remove any of your memories?" Here we go again…

"Nope, I don't like it when people try to mesh with my memories" please, just state your intentions. She gazes at me, questioning my lack of desire to remove any bad memories, I just ignore her.

"Also, There some ingredients I need for the next hex I will make" I can make what is next

"Tell me then." I talk while holding against my desire of making a sight, it will be a long day ahead, isn't it.

"The eye of a camel, the intestine of a frog and the scale of a lizard, any will do," she states the simple list, nothing really unusual, some rather basics ingredients, but because of their extensive use, they run out as fast as an alcoholic with booze on his hand.

"Also do not try to buy anything with coins I give to you" Guess I will have to do with my own coins instead, Oh well, might as well pick my personal purse along the way.

Despite this unusual order, I just go along with it, maybe she is getting something to present Robin or something, or doesn't want me to buy personal stuff with her money. Either of the two is equally probable, just hope she doesn't try to be a "normal" person again, that was really creepy.

We go to her room, the shadowing room greeting me again with the smell of hex she was trying to make. That's why she wanted me to buy ingredients, why you don't buy the ingredients yourself! All I wanted was to read my books in peace, well at least I can have the excuse to buy now.

I await her, she picks up a bag of the coin and gives to me, her hands unsteady and trembling, betraying the stoic face of her looking sideways trying to avoid eye contact from me. I must have embarrassed her somewhat with my rather uncontrolled display, I do not blame her. Gabriel, why you fuck up everything that you do?

* * *

I went immediately to my task and picked up a horse from Mustafa. To be honest, I am really surprised why he would give a horse to me, while I could easily get one from the stables. Still, I am thankful nonetheless, I doubt I have the patience to debate my reason to get a horse. He just saw me, and upon seeing the list upon my hand, he promptly gave me a horse.

Thinking about it, now it makes sense why his soldiers are so loyal to him, how they wouldn't like to work with someone who clearly likes them. Still, I have my doubts about him, its Plegia we are talking about, not utopia. Maybe he wants to gain favor with me, or he just was that friendly, either way, I don't know.

Anyways, Have to feed that though for the latter. Right now, I have a task to complete. A small note I wrote with the ingredients to buy and my need to buy water. Getting thunder can be later. Sorry, phone, I still want to use ya, just wait a little bit more.

While I ramble, The air breezes to me, the pleasant breeze coming over. Outside the castle, in the outskirts, where the skeleton of the Grima lies, a giant desert that grows nothing stands. Only kilometers, and kilometers of pure sand and some animals and plants could stand such an environment.

The dunes stretch through the scenery, forming waves of sand, while the opulent sun stings the infertile soil. I am the "only" one who walks in these lands, minutes after minutes of intangible land and lack of people.

To the few times, I have to walk on a horse, there something really stupid that always goes to my mind, I feel like I am cowboy, going alone in the vast deep wild west. A drifter, alone in his thoughts, wanting to get by and without a care in the world.

Or a Cangaceiro, going walking into the badlands, that was the caatinga. Well, without all the killing or banditry and a companion or group of people to follow with me. And I am literate, and not poor at neither society where I lived. But you got the gist of it, it is so peaceful here, and there only me, the ambient and the crazy stories I tell for myself.

The dunes become less and less frequent, their wavy forming being transformed into a flat ground, where the footsteps of peoples and animals carved into the hot sand, the signals of civilization becoming apparent by the minute. The hot dry air gains a spicy smoke quality to it, the result of the many spices the caravans bring. Talking about caravans, camels and their owners appear, their backs filled with the supply, and their owners with clothing to fight the enemy they call home.

Little by little, a city emerges, A little black dot against the blue cloudless blue horizon. The smell of water and soil mix, the river of the city meandering against the arid vale where its foundations laid, four massive dunes encircling the round shape of the city, the green-colored crops contrasting with the white and yellow sand.

A palace sits in the middle of the place, its most notable feature is the dome, with the golden color with purple touch painting the dome, the reflection highlighting its importance, if there is any problem I have here, this is the place I go through. The whole construction is made to tell one exact thing, you are nothing compared to the Grimleal, you are merely an ant, who solely functions to serve Grima… oops, I got a little bit dark here.

As I go, straddling with the horse to do my task more people appear, besides the usual caravans traveling around the desert. Some adventurous nobles with luxurious clothing, their silk clothing trying to garner some attention and buy something interesting to them, servants from the same palace I serve, going back and forth doing the duty to their accompanying lords and the last group which I belong, the servants of noble who decided to be way too lazy today and not come in person to buy their stuff.

As I walk by, one thing comes to my mind: I wonder how the other city of the other countries looks, would the capital of Halidom be as big as people often say? Despite the rotund city's palace, it wasn't as gigantic as people said, don't get me wrong, for a medieval city in the middle of the desert is rather big, but not compared to where I live. I guess, living a modern life spoiled me for a little bit. I doubt I will get the opportunity to see Ylisse after all this, but I don't know.

Anyways, I start entering the perimeter of the town, the peasants doing their menial jobs while under the scorching sun, and the enormous caravans and merchants doing trade exchange, some decide to sell their stuff before the walls, where guards stand and guard the place.

I can finally smell where all the spice in the air was, Star anise, nutmeg, paprika, and many others. One thing to note, none of them are from Plegia, they are from other places. Namely Valm and the other countries, all of these products can be traced to one merchant republic. One where some inhabitants are here right now, with their ill-suited clothing with their hats, culottes, and coats, standing beside the fellow counterpart. Of course, I am talking about the only one, Genezia, a republic of merchant subservient to the theocracy.

Some sources I found say they were conquered one hundred years ago, others say they belonged to plegia by the "mythical right", either way, what matters is they Bring products and that is it. Also, I can see some foreigners like me, Ylissian, Feroxi, Rosenneian, Cho'sinese, Valmese, and the list go on and on.

Some appear with their typical clothes, maintain their tradition in some sense, Ylissian praying for Naga, The cho'sinese walking with kimono-like clothing, etc. Despite being at the heart of the Grimeal, storytellers, and people of other religions often come here. One looks for knowledge, others for better lives, and others for curiosity. I am especially fond of the old Rosennian storyteller, it's fun to see there are still "french" people, sadly I don't have the time to waste with him.

The mass influx of people entering the walls is no joke, crowds upon crowds pile up with themselves, the guards inspecting to see if there is anything out of the place. Thankfully, the walls aren't that hard to pass through, and my impression is apparently wrong. I walk through the gates easily, I hope today isn't full.

Upon entering the city proper and before starting my habitual search for the specialized shop. The streets are full, to my utter dismay. Sound of children playing, merchants screaming at the top of their lungs, announcing prices and their product is the best, hordes of people swell into one giant mass confined into the corridors created by the houses, forgoing space for shadows, the best fighter against the scorching sun in the middle of the desert.

As I walk by, I experience my greatest displeasure, besides crowds, in general. Streets cross with one another, the vendor putting the stands in the middle of the street, making less space for walking. Buildings often look the same, with almost no sign of landmarks, beside one or other indication made by written words into the wall made by shops to attract their client. This is the Commercial area, and everything is "fine". Doesn't help the guy I want to find loves to put his shop in other places for some odd reason.

Sadly, I haven't mastered the script of Plegia yet. Despite their natural beauty, I can only be desperate when I encounter them anywhere besides a book. It would be fine if there was some standardized form, Where I can be certain when a letter begins and the other end. But no, that would be way too hard, instead what everyone single person in this unholy theocracy decides is to put their hardest calligraphy, In other words, to draw a dragon and mark of Grima with their symbol.

Man, I think my best hope right now is to find a way, to the administrative center, that one with the dome, and use it as some point of reference where to go next, the last time I had to buy stuff from him, he was located in the center, hope the guy stay the same place as before, I cannot take anymore more of his swapping locations.

And as always, things don't go as I like planned. The more I go into the depths of this foul place called capital, the more labyrinthine this place becomes. I kid you not, I think I have entered 20 long streets, I wonder how the heck Tharja and other people can walk this as if it was Sunday afternoon in their homes.

This would be a very easy problem to be solved if of course, I had the guts to talk with these people. I often go looking for the person, and when I am ready to speak, there is a tug in my heart, my mind goes overblown and words and possible reactions of disgust come to it and I stop, go the other direction and I stubbornly try to find the place in the hardest way possible. I promise to myself, I will find a way to make google maps, I don't know-how, but I will do it.

The more I think about it, why do I complain about this place so much? I didn't go here, and I never slept or lived here for a fraction of the time. The only action I do is to buy stuff and this is it, so what makes me hate this place so much. To be honest, I don't even know, I was raised in a very big city, so I am accustomed to these hateful sounds. hell, I didn't even go to the slums in my stay here! maybe is the jealousy of actually being in a familiar place, and stuck with people you love or care, or is cultural?

Yet, I still have to formulate a new plan. Where to go next? I remember the children going to other dimensions somehow. But this even applies here? where we have a Loyal Grimleal Robin, and culture so distinct from the original, it makes me wonder is anything from awakening real or not, up to this point, everything seems to be happening as the games said; Gangrel's obsession, Tharja in the plegian side, and bam, there is this thing never happened anywhere else in the games, hell her mother let her live in Ylisse for christ's sake.

But this is not even comparing right now, I have this gut feeling some noble is out there looking for my head. It's only been seven months since that the noble died, and I still am afraid my relations with the Fatimids didn't sway any opinion about me, there is always a fine line between I don't care and care.

And I wonder, where to go next, if I survive and the world doesn't end, what nation would accept me? I'm nobody, going to Ferox will reward me with a cold winter, where a creature like me is accustomed to the constant sun of this place, and I would be obliged to relearn a new language from scratch, and another culture, that would way too much.

Or go Valm, and go to fight another war, that will be even bloodier than this one, and realize, there are only two countries I know its existence, and maybe even more that I don't have any idea what it looks like. Also, I will be fighting a war that is completely unrelated to my objectives. And besides, the Outrealm gate is not there.

I look around the streets. Huh, did this city have many soldiers? Is not like this place wasn't filled with the army before. Did the conscription arrive here yet? if so… huh, there is no other way around it, isn't it? Huh, must be imagination or the road to war is going way faster than imagi...

Gabriel, Gabriel, stopping rambling so much, you still didn't buy the items and the days are passing and he will not be waiting for you any time soon, we still have to buy water or else die from dehydration. There are still a lot of things to be done, and we don't want to arrive later or… Nah, Having a roof to sleep that I don't need to pay is a godsend.

I wasted my entire time walking and yet I still didn't arrive where I wanted. You know what, let's return and search for the whole place again. If I don't find I will buy my water and go back, I don't care if I have to face Tharja's wrath… wait maybe she cut my protection… and I am not that heartless to not do as the others ask… okay, this will not end soon.

I go to the gates, the same old busy situation. Readying myself up to finally find the shop, if I have to waste my entire afternoon doing this, then shall be it. I go and turn my head and I read Ingredients and tomes etched into a wall to form a book and cauldron… You are saying I wasted time, energy, commitment, and patience to encounter the shop's new location to be right next to the gate … I hate my life.

The shop inside is very dark, there is a lack of windows, only two or three torch lights the entire place. It is very cold, the mist encompassing the small shops, the floor made of rough rock, like my room. There are only two shelves, one filled with very common ingredients and another one with basic tomes of dark magics, your fluxes, miasma, etc. The more advanced of tomes and rare ingredients being on the backdoor, standing in front of it, the owner and vendor, Khalid.

Khalid ibn Ummayad, the youngest son of the dead previous patriarch of his family. Despite this, he is, at least, in his thirties. A smile plasters his face as if he was awaiting me to come way along, behind the friendly smile of an inexperienced merchant, a dark secret hides. Sadly, I don't know if this is like this or just a façade. His gigantic beard comes to the length of his shoulder, while he hides his hair into a white turban.

He would be an enemy of mine if his circumstances were a little bit different. Our clans being at the throat of each other, the tales I received from "magician wars" are the stuff of horrors, from I could gather from the only source I had, there was human sacrifice, the almost destruction of two/thirds of plegia and some more stuff Tharja never told me. When I tried to look for some other sources, there was none.

Despite all this animosity between families. The times I had come here, he was very friendly, Tharja, and he had the utmost respect for each. Either way, I don't think I will be able to discover this any time soon. One of my hypotheses is because as a merchant of a very niche audience, he doesn't want to kill his clientele. If you know anything about economics, it's easier to get money from the living than from the dead.

Another I have, he isn't affiliated with his family at all, despite his blood relation. If this is the case, why would he get out of clan relations… Stop thinking, we need to get items, after this, you can do the "investigation".

I start to speak with the man in question"Hello, I need these items in question", showing him the list with the items" I see," He goes and picks up the item, putting them in a bag, and gives it to me.

"anything else?" He asks "no" and I reply while giving him the money from Tharja's bag. With the bag, I go to my merry to get ou…

" Sorry, for interrupting you." Here we go again.. " you are the boy that is always with Tharja?", " yes, I am." I dully reply, please just let me go, " I didn't think it was you, you actually speak now... with a lot of accent, but it is way better than last time. You didn't even speak a single word, I thought you were mute this whole time" he speaks with a surprised face.

"Hum, can I go out now ?" he smiles and his eyebrows sink, no way, is he pouting? he coughs and says " it doesn't seem the apple has fallen that far from the tree." ok, I go out, the few things I hear from him are: " The air here has lost its splendor, maybe it is time to change" and " Huh, never thought the Fatimids would use a foreigner servant, it seems times are really changing." after this, it getting water time.

* * *

Anna, Anna, Anna, I am both glad and scared of your family. I wonder how her parents had so many versions of these same people, of course, with some difference in setting or something else. But I'm also scared to think this is possible, just how her mother gave birth to lookalikes with differences being the hair color, were they merchants or something like that? Did they raise them exactly the same way and everyone became a copy of each other? Or they copied their personality unto them? They were always obsessed with money or they learned it? I will never know. I leave this mystery to the geneticists, theoretical physicists, philosophers, and annacists, they will know better than me.

Well at least, I know there isn't any kind of poison or some kind of trick with her. If there is an item you want, you will get it. She wants the money, she will get it. And both sides get along just fine, no trickery, just get the thing and get out of there. And also I love buying from her, for the simple fact, the only conversation being " you got the money ?"

So that's why, I go to her shop, wait a little bit, she comes with the items, I ask for the water, she replies with: "you got the money? and that is supposed to be it, but just when I got my water and as I am about to get out of there and go somewhere to sit just a little bit. The dark-haired Anna comes and asks: " looking for something new ?" she says with a sly smile engraved in her face" " No, I am about to get out," I respond as dry as sand in the desert

" There this Lil thunder tome, you might be a little interested" When they got the capabilities of reading minds. Must I buy it or not? Well, my mind saying yes, my wallet says no. Let's see my purse, wait a moment. Oh, 30 coins, there is only enough for one, but not enough to buy both, thunder I can get it later.

"How much is the price ?" I ask the infamous merchant," 30 coins" she replies, so I give the simplest answer possible: "No" and I get out of there and ignore the sound of an annoyed greedy merchant, and go to my life. Looking up at the sky, the sun is setting. I wasted my entire day by now, might as well rest a little bit, and walk around the place, until I found a place with a fountain and some small benches and sit. I rest for a bit, what a tiring day it was. I didn't have any time to read my stuff, write, draw, just do some menial work for the boss.

I look at my poor purse, there are still 30 coins left. It leaves me to have enough money to buy at least three weeks' worth of water, if I, of course, ration it. Which would be otherwise a big nono for me, if it wasn't for the fact water here is the most valuable commodity, one such I cannot waste, even If I wanted to.

The sun is setting down like any other day, the last rays giving orange tint to the place, the color of old melancholics. Soon the night will come and I still yet to return to my safehouse, so I do the usual checking to know if I missed anything. Let's see. Did I get a bottle of water? Check. The ingredients are here and in the usual quantities? Check. My purse was still with me and nobody pickpocketed me, while I was resting.

How many times did I have, where I rested somewhere different from the room? I go back to memories, looking at every single little corner of my mind, hoping to find an answer. Maybe, after all, I had some happiness here, at least… I hope.

Sadly, I don't remember, since going here, I don't think I had the time for my own thoughts, despite writing, I miss the piano I had. The many times I tried to play Bach and my hands had given up. I seriously miss the white and blacks keys. I remember my teacher saying that was a prodigy on the piano, is that true? I doubt it is, but I don't think I will never have the true answer.

Musicians play with their instrument, cheerful, as if nothing was happening, stuck in a little world, body, and sound mixing into each other. Funny, I remember picking up the piano to being alone, to not stick in the other people. Don't remember exactly, but I think a friend invited me to play with him, way back home. I refused, We never thought this was going to happen, I should have played with him… let's just not think way too much about next time.

I get up and go to the gates, the crowds starting to smaller and smaller, the cacophony getting quieter, while merchants remove their stands and commerce lock for the day. People go to their homes, do their daily prayer, while the richest go to the most luxurious brothel. Little lamps and candles are being lit, while I return to the gate.

I pick up the horse and lead him to the outside, caravans stop selling at the end of the afternoon, wrap their things, while some pick up their tents to sleep. The next day awaits, and a new opportunity of getting money Emerge. The farmers go out of their plantations, going to their little house, and relax for the rest of the night with their families and the rowdiest of them, going to bars to drink away from life responsibilities. The night has arrived.

While this happens, I ready the horse, loading the goods within the seal, and mount on him to start the journey back to the palace, if everything happens as supposed to happen, it will be a very calm ride, with me, the horse, the sand and starred night with the moon shining as intensely as the sun in the warm day of summer. me and my thought, the greatest threat to a day like this.

Along the journey, intrusive thoughts again attack me at every moment of rest, but times I can't but want to feed them. As much as I want to rest and never go back to this mess, there is a lot of planning to be done. Is the orthodox version of Grima right? Is he a force of good as they say or is the messianic's version right, as Awakening told us? Time will tell.

I also have no doubts, the war will be a one-sided massacre, the most important variable firmly on the plegiai side, it makes it rather obvious to anyone who will win in this foregone conclusion. But at the same time, you never know the future, and maybe, just maybe, Ylisse will win. Heck, this will be one-sided, isn't it? I wish Chrom good luck, he will be biting bullets, when the time comes.

And alas, the Sandy palace is getting bigger and bigger against the horizon. In a few minutes, I will come and return the horse and give the ingredients. Nothing, but a good night of sleep will solve, maybe this time I will get a good dream for once.

it will be a dream when I get my liberty and just get out of here and find my way back home, despite losing an entire year, finally getting a taste of just being safe is going to feel better than any meal the King eats daily. I cannot wait to just sit in a bed and just use my phones seeing small insignificant things when this happens a will savor to the last bit.

Anyways, I see a man of Mustafa and give to him, sometime later, a letter will suffice. But for now, there is the last thing to do, just give the darn things and end this drama, once for all, just this night, tomorrow you will have to prepare just as usual.

I left the bottle of water in my room, I checked things up to see if anyone had messed up somehow… the bags were in place… and nobody seemed to enter, why there is phew, this place is just as it was this morning. Until I see a glowing mark, a small rectangular insignia, saying _may you have found peace_.

I immediately go and bang the door, to see if she is there. At this point, the hallways are empty, the grand majority going for dinner or the library to see something, leaving me in these creep solitary hallways. The saffron doesn't make it any better.

I hear her steps, feet drag against the stones, the air thickens, sighs follow with it, I can hear breath from a mile away. There is no subtlety in any of the actions, only the bluntness. Sobs come along, to finally reveal a lady even paler than ghost along. With unsteady eyes, incapable of having attention to anything.

To them, with all the force she can muster, she lifts her head. Our eyes met, mine tainted with the marks of many sleepless nights and hers still with tears and tainted black. what the hell happened to her, to become like that.

She must have seen a ghost, her eyes wide open, and her mouth dropping a scowl to a surprise. I say nothing and give her back the list and the things back for the store. There wasn't any need for words. Another mutual agreement has been made, we will never talk about this with us or anyone else. Her face threatening to cry again, I just leave her alone, she needs to be alone.

I return to the dungeon, welcoming back with his usual rustic appeal, I would love to plop down and just sleep. But pick up a small piece of paper I have left from the many other nights I wrote. Just start to write how the days have been, nothing really special, but a good medication for a troubled mind. Once that has been made, I go to my bed and fall as rock into the comfy green blanket. I wonder what tomorrow brings, will it be peaceful or not?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the of the second chapter of Detachment. Nobody edited for me this time, so there will be no credits, and probably there is a lot of sloppy grammar in there, sorry. I hope you liked this chapter, it isn't very good, but I am very thankful to everyone who decided to follow this mess. I hope at the end of this month I can finish the third chapter. See ya  
> Also, I participate in this discord server: https://discord.gg/9XG3U7a feel free to join


	3. A day of rest

The following days weren't special. The week passed in mechanical sloth with the only activities I kept doing being writing, staying in my bed, studying, and honing my skills in the Plegian language. From these activities I can guarantee you, 90% of my time was passed staring at the ceiling, with me bored out of mind.

In these six days, Tharja and I never dared meet each other, with both us keeping different routines to guarantee our non-meetings. When I saw her face or silhouette in a certain place, I would go back to my room and wait, until I heard her steps and open her door to the room, and then go do something outside. Let's just say that grieving because of the supposed "death" of someone is not a very fun thing. Sadly, we will have to meet again tomorrow for another session of being a lab rat.

I also kept trying to read the book known as _The Rites,_ and some other complex theological treaties that in normal circumstances would never bother to read it, but these treaties were a gift from the family, and you don't say no to our boss, not especially, when my reputation in jeopardy in the court. Being branded as a "heretic" every time I left the room is annoying.

Besides this small inconvenience, the thing that troubles me the most is trying to decipher what _the rites_ are trying to say. The only rite I understand is the simplest and the bluntest of all: "You shall honor the end, as the great man had said.". Real subtle, but who is this great man? I don't know, and passages of the book kept mentioning the person in question.

" _Look down at the sky, praise the stars and their connections, the mixing of pure and impure, the sand and water, the end of all things and begin of all thing as one, separable of each other as it ought to, the great man said"_

What?

Writing is my way to keep my sanity in check, experiences being written down into the journal, as to not forget them. The name "journal" is a misnomer, it's more of a bunch of scribbled notes, gnawed and mud-colored papers, put in random order. The only real indication of when it was written the date put at the beginning with a title.

I pick up and flip through the pages until I find the first note, it goes as follows:

_7/2/20 - MEU PRIMEIRO TEXTO APÓS MUITO TEMPO_

_I finally got myself a piece of paper to write something on. While I have my trusted bag by my side, I sadly didn't bring a pencil, pen, or a notebook to write; only books, which I pretend to consume, while not knowing how to speak Plegian._

_To anyone who's reading this, something very improbable knowing nobody here knows Portuguese or English; my days have been mostly fine. Fatimid promptly accepted me once the Berber-like merchant talked with them._

_While I am still a little bit skeptical of them at the moment, living with the clan wasn't as crazy as expected. While I found out this is the world of Fire Emblem Awakening, because of Tharja, I still haven't found out what timeline it is. It is the bad one or is it the one where Robin has amnesia? Probably the latter, I doubt the former, but you never know._

_I've become their servant. Everyone here has their personal room, which I am very much glad to have as well. Nobody has to witness my weirdness. Also, I can be alone with my thoughts in my free time, always a good thing._

_They know I am a foreigner and, despite this, they don't treat me very differently. I've come to know a little bit about Plegian. It is a form of Arabic, from what I have learned so far. Their scripts are similar, but there are a lot of guttural sounds to the Plegian language. Perhaps that is a bit presumptuous of me since I've never spoken Arabic before in my life. But when I go back, I hope this will help me learn the Semitic languages._

_They even taught me a little dark magic on top! Well, it was interesting, they approached the subject as if it was science rather than a magic system, but if I think about it, yeah, this is this world's science. I remember one of the guys. I think his name was Ali, gave me the tome Flux. I tried to recite a part of it, only to have a tiny ball emerge, and then suddenly disappear. He became so pissed off, saying something along these lines:_

" _-you Donkey! You have to understand the text and then practice in a dark place before you can even begin thinking about trying alone."_

_Besides this bad memory, until now, there have only been good memories. But I can't help myself. I miss home way too much. Which is a funny sentiment on my part because I really hated for the most part, but now I can feel how much I've missed that time, playing some music, reading whatever I wanted, having someone to relate to, being able to practice language, and so many other things._

_But despite all of this, I feel I can move forward and hope, just for a little bit. I've been assigned to Tharja, who is creepy as hell, but I hope I can connect to her somewhat, more a wish than anything._

_I think in reality, I want to latch on to someone familiar to me, even if she knows nothing about me. Still have to see if it's going to be a hurdle when it comes to surviving her obsession with Robin, ( which I hope will appear later). This is if such an obsession exists at all... I also hope that while I'm in the capital, I can find a way home. I don't know how the future will progress, but the only thing I can maintain is my optimism in these uncertain times._

How naive I was. Poor, poor old me; you didn't know what you were getting into. How fast the world moves on. It appears as if it was eons ago when I lived in a comfy apartment with all modern amenities, instead of this suffocating cramped room.

Also, for the first time in months, I met Ibrahim in person. He wasn't sporting any confusion. In fact, he appeared relaxed, seeing me as another friend, asking how life was going, and if I was happy being there and being Tharja's retainer. The very dishonest answer was my reply, a fake smile baring my teeth and eyes averting his gaze to hide my true dissatisfaction with the whole situation. Saying to him situations that never happened and how ever-growing my "friendship" with his daughter was. He only smiled and ignored me at the end of our conversation, and a few days later he went back to his land.

For the foreseeable future, I am chained in this palace, dutifully awaiting for war and boredom to become my next new comrades. The land will be the canvas of this new painting, the blood of these people, the ink, and me the small detail in the larger picture. Just one thing for specialists to study and forget as soon as it is not important. Yes, ladies and gentlemen; welcome to the new "normal".

A new plan will have to be made if I want to escape this madness and be forgotten elsewhere. What can I do? The lazy week has made my mind dry as the Sahara desert Almost nothing flourished, except for the few story ideas here and there. Nothing progressed, and everything became another footnote in a series of footnotes.

As much as I dislike this single idea, it keeps coming back from the back of my mind. Forgotten as many others, when the first plan was made and all my hopes and dreams came to it. Sadly, I don't see any other option, if I wanted to survive and get back home. This idea is very simple, I will have to become "Plegian". I have to embrace their culture, to not be seen by them as an outsider.

No more lip service can be paid. I have to understand them in their own nature. Their rites, their faith, their costumes, their life; I must know it all. I will be hidden, and become another one in the crowd of a thousand people. Just one word in the history books, and at worst, a footnote. That one retainer that nobody remembers, not even their names or their life. When the times come and the war is no more and peace reigns on earth, missing I will be and I will return to my homeland.

And yet, there still is a problem. Where to start this whole thing? Despite my months here, how much do I already know, and so therefore I don't need to study? Should I start with religion and go from there? Relearn their history and fill my crumbley knowledge? Or do I learn some proper etiquette? Where… where…

Of course! Why didn't I think of this before? Going to the old house of knowledge, capable of holding every scrap of information available in this time period, the library. As much as I want to keep reading my books, that won't lead me much further here. Especially, when nobody knows anything from the western canon, nor does anybody wants to know anything about another country.

I get up from bed, despite loving this beautiful mattress and bed. There is no time to waste. There was never any time to waste. I dress myself up and open the door. One small little step for me, one big leap for my survivability.

The hallways give me one farewell gift before my workday strikes me again. What graces me from the other side are sizzling sounds of torches and the windy breath of an empty corridor. Not a single soul or any small talk could be heard. even the guards, whose jobs are to guard the place, are not here.

For the whole duration of my walk, no one appears. My steps resonate throughout the "journey", the only comrades I have are the statues and the symbols around me, eyeing me while keeping their static nature intact. Even the main hall leads to no one, the massive stairs without a king, leaving me to march alone in this world.

After the peaceful stroll in the empty palace, I find the doors leading to the library, a statue of a man with a scroll in his hand reading attentively to its contents sits beside it. To call these wooden gates with the mark of the Grima etched a door, would be to call a 2-meter tall person a small person. I also wonder why they splatter this symbol every time it is possible. It would be like putting the cross on every single door humanly possible. I dismissed the thought and go to open the door

With the little force, I can muster from my scrawny body, I push it hard. The door creaks, and I use the friction of the floor going against my foot to force my way in. My arms get tired from the action, straining against the powerful adversary. It was almost like suction. The gates did not budge at any moment, despite all my strength. But in the end, they complied, and let me in to survey its contents.

There was no one in the library, not even the librarian, as if it was abandoned, something not true. The air was clean, only filled with the pleasant smells of papers and ink, to make even the most bookworm faint at such paradise in front of him. Layers and layers of shelves and bookcases went on seemingly ad infinitum, each filled with scrolls, tomes and books, all placed by types, and by alphabetical order. There is even a second floor which I could not see, but it is there. And the only sounds I could hear were of my own strained breath after lifting the doors

In all honesty, even If I hate staying in a foreign land for such a long time without my consent, I cannot fault any library, even If I hated the nation, or in this case, the person who owns this place. I doubt Gangrel would even go there. He seems like the guy who would say he is superior to books in every way possible, even without reading one. I also doubt he is capable of reading anything. His background of living in slums doesn't help at all, but I will never know if this is the case or not until I meet him. In my projections, my possibility of meeting with him is none, and my wish to speak to him is non-existent.

I walked into the library. A deafening silence dominated the room. The only sound made was the clacking of footsteps going against the tough wood beneath my feet. My only companion, my rested breath, which recomposed after a while. At every step the feeling of being watched increased tenfold. I turned my head. The shadows and the air gaze at me, nobody follows.

"Hello, is anyone here?"

No one replies. Only the fire of the candles resonated, and nothing else.

"I see, I am the only one here, Maravilha" I mutter to myself, I could get all the library for myself for the day, and nobody would come to speak with me. It would only be my thoughts and me, what a comforting day.

With all out of this out of the way, I go to random shelves and search for anything remotely readable, cultural, or historical. Sadly, there is no labeling on any of the texts, I pick up a random scroll and open it. What graces me is not the words I know, but rather, the ancient form of the language, with some words looking more like a bunch of gibberish rather than an actual form of the language.

I return the book to the place it belonged and go to the next shelf. I doubt the rest is readable for me Of course, I would have to learn the ancient form of the language, something someone as low as an assistant cannot learn So instead of having my curiosity pick up the scroll off this shelf, I go to next, this only earns the same result and I move to the next one... and the next one… and the next one…

There is nothing I can read, what a disappointment… And besides what a day wasted. I could be in my room right now writing, reading, or in my bed. And I wouldn't need to be here. At least I got to see a little bit of a Plegia librarian aesthetic, with their elaborate arabesque, geometrical form sculpt to the uttermost perfection. Absolute eye candy. The rustic, yet elegant, smell and atmosphere of the place, the smell of paper clashing with the earthy wood... what a magnificent place.

Despite all this beauty, I can only disappoint myself. When I look at these texts, I thought I would have been able to read them, as I would mine from back home. I overestimated my skills. I still have a long way to go before I could read any of this. How I wish there was a chair somewhere in this place. I would love to fall down dramatically like a character in the movie, to satiate my frustration. Alas there is none, but at least they have the medieval desk where monks work, so there is that.

Also, I remember there is still the second floor to contend with since I kinda already wasted my time on coming here, why not explore up there? It's not like there is a killer in there. Wait.. if there is a killer in there, would he come to me? I don't know, but I need to be careful. You never know what danger lurks in this place, besides the bookworms and dark mages.

The stairs lead to even more bookshelves. This time when I start to look around, the letters are somewhat readable, and it seems I've arrived in the section of books I can actually read. It is organized by topic and alphabetic order, so the chances I end up lost are quite low. Of course, I could still screw up somehow.

I end up looking at books about theology, which I am not even capable of reading; still have to finish the rites to even fathom any of this. I kept finding mountains of text that I found incomprehensible.

That is until I find a book, unlike others. It was located in the poetry section. I didn't know what brought the text to my attention, the title is very simple and straight to the point: _The Epic of Validae_. Wait… it might be an epic, maybe this will tell a little bit of Plegian culture I hope, and maybe that is the reason Validar is called Validar.

I lift the slab of paper, the heaviness pulling my hand towards the ground, so I do like Tharja always did in her game apparition and hold the book close to my body and go to the nearest desk I can find.

I see the cover, laconic, and lacking any ornaments. The cover is black, with a title written in gold letters... I open the book and begin to read it aloud.

" _t hu_ , no _th ra gon sings?_ **Is it the word** _ **sings**_ **? yes, it is**.

_sing and w e ep s_ / _b oun ti ful sp"_

" Having trouble reading this?"

Wait… I turn my head and see the owner of the voice. It is from a certain twin-tailed albino. Oh no no no!

"He.. hello…, just doing fine…" I answer to the best of ability, my voice trailing off, my head sweating, while I glance at the white-haired lady, the same one who

She doesn't seem convinced by the answer. giving me a pout, she replied.

" Real fine, so fine, in fact, that you stumbled on the word 'the'." I never played as a female Robin, but it seems her being sassy is true, let's see if the rest is the same or not. When in doubt … I don't have any plans if I am in doubt. Oh, snap, this is going to be awful.

"Hum .. humm." **Man, get a hold of yourself! One more slip and you might as well consider yourself a dead man.**

"The rumors of you being a foreigner were true. Who else but a foreigner trips on the word 'the' while serving in a royal court, especially with such a lousy accent" she says with a very annoyed look in her face.

" Yea, pretty much" I respond with the only thing coming to my mind at the moment. "I am reading this book," I say while pointing to the massive first page of it, and she stares at it.

"Oh, I see the epic of Validae, the one who tells the foundation of Plegia.", Robin states in a matter of fact tone, her eyes indifferent to the book.

" Yeah..." My voice trailed off, "I'm trying to understand your history."

"Huh, way better than a lot of other people from outside trying to declare us as a bunch of crazy cultists." She states bitterly, face turning into a very pronounced scowl. She shakes her head and goes back to a neutral face, showing no hostility.

" Besides, why are you staying here? Today is the day of lamentation, even the librarians are resting"

I… I… I…, **how the heck I am supposed to know that! Take notes, this is important**. Inquiring to me, I give the shoddiest answer ever.

"Well, I like reading books, and since I am in Plegia, it is good to know the history of the place, I guess" I replied, but I can see she doubts my intentions.

One of her eyebrows lifts up, then a rather mischievous, inoffensive grin appears. " Since you don't know much about our history, and you want to know more, I offer a proposal: I tell mine and in exchange, you tell yours. That is if you want to try your luck at understanding any of this" She points to the books, the daunting words growing heavier in my mind.

I weigh my options. I could try to read the darn thing, and try to understand the ancient vocabulary, the convoluted way the story is told,( the curse and blessing of an epic poem); or, I could learn the easy way, by listening to Robin's explanation of the whole thing. Despite my beating heart telling me not to, I accept her proposal.

"So what is the story?"

A dumb smile appears on her face and she steps back, "See it wasn't so hard." **You sassy girl, I am going to strike back when you least expect**. "So yeah, before anything, our tales begin before we even came here and settled on the land where Grima lays at rest and I shall hold his spirit." She stated, smiling no more.

While affirming her objective in life, her words were empty As if they belonged more to a programmed machine than a human being.

"A schism had come to humanity, dividing the world, and irrevocably shaping it into what it is today. Continents shocking and merging with themselves to create a new world. While old nations crumbled and new ones were born to replace them, a new era came to humanity. One of death and betrayal, but also, a rebirth to the madness of other eras. We came from the west, where today lies the Valmese Continent.

We descend from the hero, Validae, the man who made a sacred pact with Grima to lead humanity towards a new future, where neither humanity nor he would be subjugated by the whim of Naga and her deceitful people.

While a final showdown happened between them, Validae and his followers, Malik and Abbas, escaped in a boat from their violent death and came upon this land. They arrived at the beaches and escaped to the desert to survive against the natives here. While this was happening, the Just dragon had lost his fight against Naga, but escaped, badly injured he escaped and dutifully searched for his followers, until he found Validae, and died while they tended to him.

Despite being in the desert, they couldn't abandon our god, and so we decided to fix it here. They found the river of birth and as such, Plegia was born, humble but always on the lookout for our god."

" Hmm, interesting, thank you"'

"You don't need to thank me." Robin replied, "I like helping people discover our history, but besides why you had to go crazy, while everyone was cheering for me? You looked at me with such horrified eyes. What could possibly be wrong with you?".

This would happen sooner or later, the problem is I am not prepared at all to speak with her about it. Saying to a person you are bringing the apocalypse and also you do not want to be affiliated to them in any shape or form, is not an elegant response. Especially when they are the vessel of the creature in question, so I do the old switcheroo.

"I don't know, ma'am, but why are you here?" I point my finger at her "I am from a foreign country, so I never heard of yours customs, but you, the daughter of the Validar and the vessel of your god, should know way better than me in this aspect, aren't you supposed to be somewhere else in this so-called lamentation day."

She looks at me with a distinctive pissed off face " you dolt, do not change the question, and besides I know very well what I am doing." **This won't work, just answer the darn question.**

I either answer with a lie and respond with a no, what would be the best to answer….

"I would rather not answer" I reply.

"Why not ?" she asks me.

"Well, because I don't want to," I reply bluntly.

"Fine," Robin huffed, folding her arms as she looked warily, "Anyways, where are you from? Your accent is neither Ylissen nor Feroxi, not even Valmese."

**Here we go**

"Well, I come from a distant continent, far away from here. So much so, that none of your people came to it, or have even heard of it. My country happens to belong to a certain part of the world called America, and the name of my country is Brazil." I give her an honest answer, I doubt I can hide from her anything.

"So that's why your name is so weird. Who would name their child with the surname Bilac?" Robin replies, frowning.

**Please, you can insult me, but spare poor Olavo, he's already dead, don't need to insult him anymore, we already did this a thousand times better.**

"You must be a noble from there because from what I could gather, you have an understanding of the alphabet. Hmm, Tharja even said that you quickly learned the alphabet. She was surprised because people don't tend to learn this thing quickly." She replies while gazing into my soul. I will be forever thankful for my past version for deciding it was a good idea to learn the alphabet of the languages I wanted to learn.

"So, does your land have any tales, or not?" She asks, her curiosity emanating through a hopeful smile on her face.

"Well, my land has a lot of books and tales. So many that I don't even know where to start." Her smile grows bigger, her excitement can barely be contained as I speak.

"So tell me one already" She demands.

"Do you want something more modern or more classical?" I ask her.

"Just any you like."

Okay, let's start with something more simple, no Dostoevsky or Guimarães Rosa here.

I start to remember and tell the Iliad and the Odyssey.

"There was once this man called Paris…"

* * *

" And that was it," I say after telling the story I tried to reconstruct from the few fragments I remember. There were some parts I think got wrong, but for the love of God, I couldn't remember if Odysseus was in his voyage for twenty or ten years.

I feared the worst. Despite all her excitement, maybe she wanted me to tell my story, then end my little insignificant life. A face can betray everyone with the owner, but when spoken to a being of cosmical proportion, caution is advised. There is no way to know for certain.

I lift my head and to my utter surprise, her reaction isn't of any feigned interest or even horror. Rather, there is a pensive face, and a small little smirk on her face as eyes look up at the ceiling.

"It was a pretty good story, despite the fakeness of those gods. I see we share something in common." She stares at me with a warm smile.

"What in common, exactly?" I ask Robin.

"They were right. Nobody can fight fate. But they were also false since there is no Zeus, Athena, or Eris here, only Grima and devious enemy Naga."

**Oh, that… Well, I expected something very different.**

"What if I told you this story is way older, and nobody believes in it anymore. Just saying, this thing is more than 3000 years old, or something like that."

"So what do people believe then?"

**Why do people keep asking difficult questions!?**

"I would love to answer, but I feel overstayed my welcome" Before getting out, she stops and says "Stay here, you are fine me, but please just answer the question, I will tell no one."

"You will tell no one, right?" **please be honest**

"A promise is a promise." She shuts her mouth after she gives her an answer.

**Why not?** "well, its compl-"

"There you are, Reflet!" Another lady with white hair screams. Why do I even bother?

"Calm down Sis. I was speaking with Tharja's servant over here." The tactician defends herself.

"You know you aren't supposed to be here, lady. Master Validar is waiting." Aversa states calmly.

Robin turned back to me, "See ya, Gabriel," and she whispered in my ear, "The next time we meet, give more stories, they are fun" and go out with Aversa.

Aversa's gazes penetrate my soul, her aura strangling me. Now I have two monsters to deal with.

"Why are you here, especially on such an important day? How the Fatimids thought bringing this boy would be a good idea is beyond me." She says and promptly leaves me alone. I give myself time to rest.

I bit off way more than I could chew, Aversa's words linger in my mind, as I go back to my room with just one question in my mind: Where this will end?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that was the third chapter of Detachment. I want to thank TheBobcat18 for helping edit this chapter, without him I doubt this chapter's grammar would be good. I hope you all liked this chapter, it wasn't great, but at least had some fun with it.
> 
> I also participate in a discord server, here is the link: https://discord.gg/9XG3U7a


	4. Cogito Ergo Sum

The usual darkness hovers in its silent way, the very essence of the fabric which constitutes Tharja's room. Candles whisper their small noise, while her cauldron boils the purple liquid, the aroma of broken down rose and orchid mixed with the fetid smell of rat's guts spread throughout the room. The heat radiates the whole room, unbearable as a desert at the peak of the day. There is not a place to escape or hide, the door locked with the keys in Tharja's hands, more precisely sitting beside sheets of brand new and murky papers.

This time her body doesn't betray her face, every single movement is calculated to the exact beat. One of the hands scribing down the flawless flows of her calligraphy, the wavy form of the letter stamping the message of the other one grips a knife with a blade as black as the night, a dark green miasma shimmers, impregnated into metal, buzzing like a wasp ready to attack. A ballet of thoughts in her mind, the spirits psychographic their untranslated message into the world.

The lines once painted in a deep shade of navy blue turn into glowing purple, the barely contained energy overflowing, sparking into oblivion. As if this was gasoline on fire, it slowly slithers its way in the taint of the lines, limited only by the unclaimed beige pages, incapable of growing outside its own confined borders. Revealing unreadable shapes, unknown and forgotten, but only remembered by those studying it. The forms coalesce in the center into a small bonfire, shining more brighter than any other light source in the room, the flames blazing calmly, serene, and unmolested by any force.

Little by little, the candles are silenced by the wind, ceasing the little croaks in the air, the breeze responsible for extinguishing it, carrying the message from the bonfire. The room gets darker as the focus diminishes from the entirety to just a few. Bed, cauldron, the floor engulfed by the gloom, the spectator of what is going to happen next. Only visible the desk, the purple fire, and Tharja, The only actors important to the act.

Standing before Tharja, my right arm and hands are extended above the mellow fire. Sweat soaks my face and palm, which tremble with the uncertainty of the act. Eyes strained trying to discern forms under the murkiness of the room, while the purple light blinds me, the pain of discerning the two upholds the room. Despite the flames, it doesn't burn whatsoever with a lack of sensation of heat in my hand. There is only dread for what comes next.

"The world rises down, shadows form, the unknown void filling it. We are but children born out of this void. Raised in between the peaks of faith. The climb leads us to the peak, the clouds bloom in the sky, and yet no answer is given. The sky rejects anyone who isn't blind, the return to the shadows is a must, into the darkness dwells the meaning, the truth of every being, to one discover, one must embrace the clouds shading our birth", Tharja recites the intoxicating message,

Without any warning, the knife slashes my palm. From the little cut, blood oozes and shines, sludging through the lines in my palms to fall at the papers. The fire gets bigger by the dripped red fuel, slowly engulfing the papers, burning it. Smoke comes out of it as it becomes the sole noticeable feature at the desk, shining ever bright, a part of the flame readying to taste my skin.

My once trembling body is paralyzed by the events transcribed. The dry saliva coming to my throat in a futile attempt to calm the pain in the neck, my eye twitch, while gazing at Tharja as the next, as I await her's next movement, anxiety consuming my body. She stops looking at the bonfire and locks her gaze at me, eyes staring my own, reflecting my small frame.

"Is there any worth in following the line?" Tharja drops the question. The flame rises and engulfs my hand, heat I don't feel.

_It seems it wasn't as bad as I imagined._

I try to move my fingers throughout my body, and yet I don't feel anything as if it never existed… Oh no, oh no no no no! I open my mouth as I prepare to scream. Nothing comes, not even a single pitch. I can only watch in horror as my senses are robbed. Slowly spreading through my arms, erasing out of my existence, only a shining rod of meat and bone. Then it crawls towards my chest as if it is a sentient being, suffocating me as the sensation of any air is lost. The lack of a heartbeat is dizzying, making me almost throw up at every moment. There is no heat nor cold, stolen by the starved blaze. As it crawls to my head and my existence is erased, I can only think "why" as at last the world becomes void.

* * *

...

Who am I? There is only nothing and the only thing it ever existed is nothing. Nothing emerged from anything, it is what is. Void, empty, and uncaring, and this it. There is no answer, no question, a null of reality. Just a desert upon a desert, devoid of anything. this is it. What to expect? Nothing will change or will change. This message being sent was sent by no one, as by then I never existed. The most perfect of existence, there is calm and peace, and as the world rejoices. There isn't order nor chaos, it simply never existed. Why go out of this place…

This is the void, the only thing that exists and doesn't exist at the same. Is it all there is to the world? Really, what else could it be, there is not a point of any of it and never really existed. I never tasted, heard, felt, or sensed anything. There is only calm and relief, and yet… is this really it, just emptiness? Nothing more? What a disappointment… why maintain my hopes towards something so pointless?... No, there must be something more! Even as insignificant as a mere single particle of dust in the middle of the nill. Thoughts flood me, the tide coming. If I want to truly understand something, even if it is non-existent, therefore I must doubt

Why is it so dark here? If there is really nothing in this world why do I keep doubting? Are there any particles in the air? Why do I keep feeling and spelling words I should know? Why so many why? Sweet doubt, what is the world without you? A mindless exercise? Maybe. But what is thought without you? Nothing, that is what is the thought without you. The world is empty, but if doubt comes, reality and unreality isn't more of an empty place isn't it? if it is more than an empty vessel, this shouldn't be existing, nothing exists, and yet… if it exists more than this?

If I doubt, there must be something to hold it. A vessel worthy of holding such thought, and if there is a doubt, something must have created somehow. Doubt doesn't come out anywhere, it's a process of creation where beings question everything. And as the sea of doubt swarms, questioning every single detail existing into a world where nothing stands, and besides the thoughts, what it is? Therefore I must think…

Oh, thoughts, the muse of existence, and the enemy of nonexistence. The food of the conscious mind, the enabler of existence, and the mother of all senses. All could be the great things of reality, books, music, living without a drop of it, the process we live by.

If one must think, something needs to exist. The perceptions and conscious needs to exist realities aren't empty, and yet are uncertain. But between everywhere thought, doubt and mind, a sapient is needed, a being capable of holding this mind, a creator, no, a categorizer, the being who doubts, therefore thinks and so. Therefore I am!

The rifts between the planes occur. Particles of light making tears out of this dark void, dust appearing, beautiful trails leading to nowhere, but my head is created out of these insignificant particles, may be brought out of my stubborn refusal to conform into this state of non-reality. Bigger fragments emerge out of the holes made by the energy. The fine line between reality and no existence begins to blur, merging together to form an incohesive union, a failed matrimony. My body starts to appear, my arms, legs, and chest assembling together, the flesh and yet… I could feel nothing, only the presence of the being, the world standing still in this void.

Centimeter by centimeter, upon this failed union, the void is replaced by a white light. Only figments remaining, my body falls into the floor, as I lift my head to see only Emptiness just pure unadulterated white. The feet still touching the unknown, one could say this is a perfect torture room, but you never know.

I aimlessly walk in the new "void", indifferent as to the other one. Did anything really change after that? all this whole dramatic thing was for nothing? I have a body now and I can feel things now, I guess? Boredom comes to me, there is nothing to do, see or watch. So I sit down and wait for something to happen. Time barely moves, stuck into the rhythm of nothing, the nauseating feeling of non-resolved inertia comes to me, where is it possible it could come?

Before I can close my eyelids, I decide for just one last time to focus on something dumb. I imagine a random dot in the non-existent walls nothing happens, and yet I continue, what I have to lose? Little by little, small particles of sand pop out, making a small trail where the light flashes through it, flowing in the air, indifferent to the external. Winds blowing where there wasn't before, a refreshing difference to this world. Sand communicates with each order, some fall down, while the rest intermingle with each other to birth a sandstorm and dunes layering the ground. While this happens something unexpected also happens. Grey grains appear revolting against the sandy new order.

What follows is the fight of the particles, a ballet of two forces. Shockwaves of grains exploding left and right. The wind coordinating in the tactics and strategy. At the end of their battle, the artificial win the battle, the loser moving his dune and elsewhere if it was a living being, the plans of concrete now being put in practice in the now empty part of this world.

Old buildings birth out of the ground, as structure arises from nothing, and metal foundations laid readying themselves the new overlords. The particles mixed, the carcass being regenerated unto the composition of their inner organs, a hard shell of protection into this world. Edifices proudly standing into the world, unbeatable and unbreakable, as they form a forest of concrete.

As this happens, new grounds emerge to reflect their new overlords and erase any trace of the existence of the other. The once soft feel of sand changing to painful and hard asphalt spurting out of the ground, black as oil. Vehicles popping out of nowhere, cars, buses, and bikes. The elements of the new landscape. Then a green dot emerges into the ashen walls of one of the buildings.

Even despite its size, it sprouted in the building. Slithering his roots along sucking the nutrients of the limestone and gravel rotting the structure, as the lead and flowers bloom to the white sky. As to follow their leader, others germinate and create a forest in the sky. Collapses come to the unbreakable formation, the pressure of the parasites way more powerful than they thought. They fall as if they were man, flinching, the crack made by the plant being the cause of it. As the particles explode upon the crumbling down of their life, only a few are left in the aftermath. As if they were one, the plants fund each other to create one massive vegetable ribcage without a heartbeat.

Without any warning, a splitting sound comes, the ground quaking under the massive soundscape of the world giving birth to rock. A mountain-shape obelisk rises from the ground to meet their creator-sky, their unnatural black fighting against the white to affirm their identity, screaming at the world they wish to be recognized. Smoke fumes out of it, painting and fighting the sky in the aftermath of the battle, the greyness of a new reality.

And upon the cracks of the asphalt, oil gushes out of their holes, coating the ground into their liking, thick and red as the blood inhabiting every human. Drops of the liquid shape themselves trying to mimic the flesh in an attempt to create life without a blueprint. The experiment results in a slime-ish deformity contorting into the ground screaming into the loudest notes their cries of agony, the pain of reality unbearable to them. Some lucky few grit their non-existent teeth and bare through their gnashed flesh and put their own two feet onto this land and walk toward the obelisk, the procession ignoring the cries of abandoned comrades and me.

I ignore the scene, and upon me and only me lies a familiar female voice who chants their mindless task "Upon a world which lies nothing, why not go as if you were a shadow? Mindless husk, they are, but there is nothing to lose nor to hide if nothing happens, and there is nothing to gain here, why not go anywhere? In your own words, there is nothing left to lose," and with the nerves controlling my body, I obey their calling, as unimportant, the task is, what else can I do? Look at the scenery, no… there is too much to be done.

While the shadows and processing creep into every single hole of my body, I discard my fear and go along, resisting at my temptations of abandoning everything, step by step crawling under the obelisk shadow, ominous as the bloom of a quietless night, the crumbs of glass, stone showing the sky, while flesh and bone withstanding, resolute into their task, the puppets of another puppet.

A crumbling building stops me at my tracks and invites me into entering their insides of cement, leading me to an abandoned inner parking lot, cars intact as if the owner never left them, the plants circumvent but never penetrate the chassis, afraid of the tasteless electrons. The elevator says random infrared numbers, their logic long lost. The only thing left to them is particles of dust accumulate in their insides, the capability of doing the one sole thing in life lost. Leaving me with only one option, the infinite stairs as high as the sky where even the quickest and patient are left to walk into eternity. With no other option left, I take the gamble. If there is nothing to lose, why not?

Foot after foot, the leveled floor challenges me, every moment a part of my energy consumed into the endeavor, legs begging to fall apart at every moment, my breath erratic. How many floors have I already passed? Fifty? One hundred? There is no way to tell, my eyes becoming vertiginous as every level before me fills with a vicious black liquid consummating the material, their fuel source. Faltering, I crawl, rocks scrape my naked body, rubble making little incisions over it until one sole open door is found. A surge of energy comes to the frail body, and I make a leap towards it, denying every single sense of pain I feel at this very single moment

I land into the plastered ground, saliva comes out of the mouth, affliction impeding any stretch of muscle and bone. The restless breath dominating the sound of the room, resting the weak comparison. Almost crumbling like a cookie, I lift myself up, the taste of sweat soaking my face, and blurring my vision, calming myself for a bit, and slamming the door denying the liquid any access. I look up this facility, inside there is grey air and artificial sunlight.

Destroyed partition wall in the ground, scratched, lifeless as the first put. Gnashed colored papers of covers of lawsuits fill up the ground, stories of uncountable men and women reduced to mere impersonal words telling the deaths and how much were their wealth. A mannequin wearing a destroyed suit sits on broken blue chairs grinding into the beige of their foam stuffing.

Lying dead in the grey plastic tables, the same colored papers at their side, while smashed computers with broken dark glass and wires serve as their comfy pillow, and upon one of the walls, there is a giant clock marked with the phrase _Isso aqui é vida/This is life._

Under that, there is a symbol with an eagle holding a ball, and laurels at each side of the ellipse engulfing the eagle, there is no word etched, behind the blue hues of the figures, lies the deceitful lies hiding in my being, one thing comes to my mind at my moment what a great mess that is.

The dull colorless ground greets me in non-liveness in all parts of the place, there is no such thing as windows in here, after all, who needs to see natural light peeking in somewhere like this? There is nothing of worth to salvage, just empty scrap and junk, the souls of bureaucratic workers overworking in their job, and the nostalgia. Shaking my head, going on, and searching for a way to go to the next room.

Upon searching in the room, I find a door as dead as the other things in the room, it's only distinguishable feature is the plastic black door handle. I force it, hoping it would bulge and allow me to go on to my next destination, but the object doesn't move a single centimeter. The keyhole eyeing me and laughing in his non-existent mouth.

Withstanding my own impatience, I sigh and let calm air go to my lungs. Since the place isn't very big, I doubt the key to this thing is far away and go to the rubble laid before me. Looking at every single desk and debris on the ground, I go on my quest to fetch the item, but to no avail: the key isn't anywhere. I sit and bear through my thoughts in what place it could be?

A small dot of silver pops in one of the broken computers. Maybe this is the right one?

Going there gifts me with the broken body of a female mannequin, rotting under the shadows and marks of sleepless nights in what in her eyes would be. A photo of two children in her desk, their faces smudgy. An uncomfortable feeling runs through my body, my heart under the pain of the uneasy surrounding the figure. Therefore I put my hand on the broken screen and grab the key connected into the wires. Ripping out, the scream of an unknown entity occurs, and then silence returns as if nothing happened.

After this, I go on my encounter with the door who mocked me. By putting the keyhole, their laugh goes to silent despair, no sound comes and they open themselves up in a slow manner as if I was a noble of some kind, and it was my own butler. I ignore him and I enter down a corridor and then the door slams itself abandoning me to my own device yet again, that bastard!

The hallway is like the room beforehand, lifeless grey, the only difference being the better lighting, the bulbs working at maximum potency with a vibrant white of an interrogation room. There is a worn-out clothing that was thrown out at my side, the deepest shade of mud brown contrasting with the lightning, the most noticeable object in the whole entirety of the corridor. But to be honest, any color would pop up upon these conditions. Picking up the clothes, I dress myself up. They are more like rags, gnashed, black taints appearing all over the cloth, and harsh on touch, the last time someone took care of it was long ago. Well, for one thing, this is at least better than nothing.

The walk through the one direction is slow, methodical, and boring. No signs emerge or dare to present themselves to me, and my only companionship is the low volume of sound from my feet stepping on the ground. The dullness of it all just bores me to no end. Every single second wasted on this pointless facility and alas to my utter happiness, two dark glass doors greet me at the tunnel, elegant in every aspect, door handles of wood and

hard glass, an exception rather than the rule in a world where bland rules supreme.

I open them as dramatically as possible, pushing both doors with my two hands, while they crack away. What I stumble upon is a gigantic room, easily capable of holding at least five hundred people, curved desks capable of ten or twenty people at once made of quality wood, while the chairs are made of fluffy leather. Standing above all others is a table in the center of it and a man in the cross behind it. Plastering everywhere is the green and yellow flag in the center written with the text: _Ordem e Progresso/ Order and Progress,_ a red tint under it _._

There is a massive screen at the east side of the room, there is an electronic panel spelling out unknown names, all white out. The text reflects the numbers of people in the room. An empty space, a wasted effort, the beings who stood there once were doubtfully good, most of them filled with empty promise after promise. I don't think the beautiful flag deserves to be here, it's more of a tainted symbol now. Not even glancing for the last time, I get out of the place, a small crack on the wall opening up and letting me out of this. after all, who needs to waste bitter emotions upon unsurprising reflections.

As the crumbling remains of the wall stand at my side, the new rays of a dark sun under the sky dawn upon the brittle yellow sands sitting on the landscape, The heat fizzling and distorting the view, as my naked feet go from the cold hard stone floor to the boiling soft grain surface. Just another different way to make the same torment in the end, so it goes.

The old forms continue into the march into the obelisk, despite their shapes melting by the contact of the sun, they keep going as nothing has happened, trails marked but not stopped. Sucking my breath, I follow their example, the feet fighting against the irritation caused by the amounts of grain pricking at my sole. After every single step, another session of inspiration and expiration occurs, as I keep gritting my teeth, maintaining my calm under hell's floor, and the pain at bay.

The blackened sun watches me, the sole viewer of this Sisyphean task. So powerful that it denies the stars to enter his domain, only allowing himself to shine, narcissistic as always the creator of the situation at my hands, caused by taking the vacant seat as the rule of this reality, stretching his rays to cover the entire world, no one capable of stopping his plans. Despite being the audience, he is indifferent to me as any of the other beings, just another subject in his massive kingdom.

As I further go inside the confines of the desert, the base of the obelisk reveals themself. Brutal comes to my mind. Sharp angles and blocky structure form the building, one massive cube and diamond shape structure sitting beside the obelisk, a rectangular form gluing them together, as two strips of rock rest on the quadrangular figure. Totalitarian in nature, it draws every single being into his fabrics. Grey and black mingling to make the pronouncer of all that holds into the world. Immeasurable shapes carved into the walls of the monolith. The hypnosis of the form and mind, the absurd of it all.

Triangular gates adorn the entrance, massive in scope, it dwarfs even the biggest of creatures. Open and impersonal, it allows everyone to enter and explore the inside of the facility it guards and the secrets it holds. I stand before it, the massive procession entering and leaving behind the liquid rest, the one incapable of entering. The only remnant of the left-behinds, the slime trail their bodies made before collapsing into the unknown state. My feet are covered in the goo painting, as I enter the place. The revolting texture makes my bile almost get out of my body.

With a long breath that becomes a low windy whistle, I ready myself to set my foot on the coal ground, the uneasiness setting upon me as I gulp some saliva. Restrain shown, dipping my toes into the shadows, before fully diving into the planes of the unknown, where lies knowledge, perhaps? Or maybe the damnation and submission to the void?

A ramp stands at the other side, a platform connecting to it, two massive abysses at the sides, allowing one to pass. A squarish hole in the whole spurts air and black water falling down to the chasm. Rows of pillars perforate diagonally, a fountain of liquid coming out of it, baptizing some few with actual forms, not unstable like others. The parade passes through, appearing more like a blob than some individuals forming a march. Stomaching the shivers and trembling hands, I paint the rags as black and infiltrate them. The raining substance dodges from me. As it was before, they didn't notice me or if they noticed, they decided that my presence wasn't important or had any real threat to them in some way.

Slow is my walk as their slow ascent lets me soak the inner workings of the place, gears rotating into the walls, fluids pouring out, spherical shapes flying in the atmosphere, purple miasma airing up the place. Geometry forming the part of the equilibrium of the ecosystem of this place. There is an abrupt end to the forms standing before us. Zig and zag go the path where we are walking, a slow burn into the lonely adventure.

And yet signs carve the majority of the place, unknown beings mutter their mad chant audible and resonant into the chambers, the muttering of the slime and the cries of heart beating into oblivion. A cacophony of an industry without smoke, nowhere to be found clock ticking their time in an unsteady rhythm.

and alas, before long, a platform emerges out of the gloom lighting of the location four rectangular-shaped pillars circumvents and crosses each other. In the middle of it, a big black book was put into a form of stand, the page as white as milk inviting us into reading their content. Upon our arrival, mechanical sounds come out of the platform, grinding a slow ascent into the top. Boredom comes as I sit, resting my well worn-out body, as dark rays come out from the hole above us, illuminating our space, the heat comforting me. The shadows being destroyed by the sun king

We finally arrive on the floor where the obelisk dwells, massive, an untranslated message carved into the front, a sense of dread coming to me, as the imponent building releases more of its inebriating aura, nauseating as it is, the smallest sensation making my head dizzy and incapable of understanding the living structure, a small passage of the yet to come, what could it possibly be? With all my willpower left, I breathe out and pick the courage and go toward its insides.

The darkness impregnates the uneven stairs leading into the top of the Obelisk, the light as little as possible, only shadows walking into the inside perimeters of the area, walls etched with messages. Taking the little details, I put my little feet into the levels, my hands helping me along the trek, positioning themselves into the walls, claustrophobic, every single step I make, a chance of falling down into the abyss by the lack of handrails, the blobs passing through me, tasting their bitter taste.

Into the ceiling we arrive, a small opening revealing an unknown light, opening, reveals a white room with a triangular ceiling. It slowly opens itself like a blooming flower into the summer, the tension increasing tenfold by every single second as my duty is finally completed, I wonder if that is what I want, maybe it is, after all, this wasn't for anything right?

What is in the sky is the same sky as before, only this time it has clouds in it.

…

It was only this… no commentaries. The creatures received the light mesmerized by their non-existent eyes, They happily contort themselves, sickening small grumbles and noise coming out as they received the "blessing in the sky". My ears get strained as I hear the ritualist noises. I get out of the room and allow myself to breathe for a moment for the journey back into the floor.

I descend into the step, little rock falling down and clacking on the floor, reminding me of what will happen if I am not careful. Despite all my common sense, my fist clenches as I scowl back into the pointless journey I've made until now, that was just it ?! Clouds in the sky. Huh, impressive, Of course not! I punch hard against the wall, receiving the pain back, the gravures not bulging against my weak and inefficient form of attack. Just another disappointment as usual.

Once on the floor, I don't know where to go next. Where can I possibly go right now? The desert with pricking sand or the city of bad memories? No. Well, there is the book in the middle of the platform, why not read anyways? Going there leaves me to see the meticulous detail in the composition of the papers. Words stringing together to form a heart in the middle of the page, a little space in between to get the words to breathe out, I thank the calligrapher for making this, at least I have known something worth seeing in this freaking thing and I pick up the book to read more pages.

A deafening scream rises and spreads through the sky. The platform goes to a rapid descent, the strong wind almost lifting me up. The stand transforms itself into a chalice overflowing with the same goo of the creatures. Lifting my head up to see the sky, there is only black, where some of the blobs fall down and others drip down to encounter me. Flopping under is the more defined slime with actual bodies, now they are knights under the obelisk's influence, created by absorbing the "divine" revelation, swords emerging from the red bodies, the blade so sharp, it reflects light.

Left with the book in my hands, I flip through the page incessantly searching for a way out, a spell, curse, or anything to escape this madness. The unstealable letters become recognizable for me and I mutter to myself, despite their meaning I don't understand it all and alas, a thick purple aura surrounds my body, as I read the page, readying myself up. Sadly, there is no way to escape this time, therefore now this is the time to fight.

The blob that was dropped down, diving themselves up into formations creating a small soldier, cannon fodder to the real threat that is the knights of the obelisk. As they come out into the world, they stretch and act like zombies, a horde of these things amounting into the little space I have into the few meters of the place.

As I speak up the words from the book in my hands, the aura transforms itself into a black orb emanating from the palm of hands, strands of electric shock touching my fingers. The ground is covered with inscriptions of the spell, the suction of the ball consuming the air, I release from the immense pressure it creates to my arm, the trail of destruction is the only thing I can see, the electric shock exploding the blobs into numerous parts.

Their blood coming out and spreading into the air. The damage contorting and making it painful to continue their operation, A ear-piercing shriek they make, so deafening I can't hear what the hell is going on, my sense of direction messed up, left and right blended together, my feet uncertain where to go. As I stammer, the remaining "knights" approach ever closer to me, readying their swords and preparing to slash,

I generate another orb from the aura inside me, as I ready the ball of energy to go its destructive way. Attacks from the knights come all together as a union. A little breach in between allowing a dodge to happen. When I evade, time slows down as the blade passes through my eyes, a few centimeters of difference. Rolling into the other side, a few strands of hair falling down, my unsteady breathtaking puffs of air after the aftermath.

As they circle me again, instead of releasing the blast into one direction I prepare to do under the ground, even if I get hurt for a little bit all the splash the damage will be worth it. Suddenly, a sword slashes my back, the pain stinging in my back, the fresh air burning the wound, the red liquid coming out, tainting the rear. Gritting my teeth, I release the orb to the ground.

A purple explosion ensues, the shock wave making the site tremble. The creatures standing inside the blast radius erased, not even a drop of their fluid left. Only a few remaining knights alive scream away their pain.

As for me, I fly in the sky, the blood rushing to my lungs and mouth. Hitting the ground, the blunt force breaks my ribs, which pierce one of my lungs, the air escaping. Putting my hand in my mouth, the blood gushing out like a fountain while painting the palm. Looking at my chest, I can see various holes, spurting red liquid everywhere. I stand up, the pain is unbearable, the tension of all my sustained damage catching up to me. The cracking of the bones and the muscle sprained, a single step almost guarantees a collapse. A small cry and laughs come to me, while I resist against all odds, the sorry state of my destroyed organs.

The platform is destroyed and falling down into the abyss, so I limp towards the exit again, Grinding my teeth to recover my senses for a little bit and forget the pain for a bit. My body trembles as I go down the geometrical ramp. A sound startles me, the pitch of insects, The wings of wasps beating in the air. Looking at my back as I already know my answer, the horror coming to my brain.

The remains of the fluid combining forming into a creature morphs, The body of a cockroach with the thousand humans feet of the likes of a millipede, one hundred massive fly wings, and a gigantic claw as a mouth. The thing crawls towards me, his agile legs having an upper hand against my limp ones. Before the monster can catch me and eat me whole, I throw away any common sense, and I jump into the pit, a strong blow of air coming against my direction as any air remaining is sucked from the lungs, the blood stops falling down together with me as I "reenact" the drawing of doré with my nonexistent wings the adrenaline keeping me alive from knowing wherever there is an afterlife or not.

I crash upon black water, a splash of the liquid going everywhere, the splashing breaking both of my legs as they project outside the body. The agony of the lack of air comes to my entire body in the water suffocating me. A struggle to keep me floating as I swim with the pain of legs destroyed, my arms having to do the work and leading me along the way to a simple shore, and upon the center an altar with another book, this time there is no illumination marking, only visible darkness surrounding it.

When I arrive at the shore, I try to rise, the bones finally crack, a sickening crack resonating in the rooms. Leaving me to slowly crawl toward it, rasping my body along the harsh surface, gravel perforating the torso. The grinding of the left to air bones only intensifies as the trail of blood wherever I go grows, the remaining air not enough for maintaining my consciousness, while I futilely breathe like a dying animal begging to be killed, as the sensation starts to dwindle and pain is a little bit elevated.

Halfway point, the creature comes in with its majestic brutality strolling down in the walls like a centipede, but this time it is contorted in pain like me, the amount of oxygen necessary to sustain the thing catching up to him. When I notice its presence, I make even bigger leaps destroying my legs in the process, the meat dandling from the remains of my body, and in an attempt to escape from the foul beast's grasp and finally arrive at my destination that voice chanted me to.

The pain increases tenfold, my eyelids slowly closing, signing the end and the beginning of my departure of the world, only my arms allowing me to slither into the book, my fingers almost touching the pages, when the blob slowly engulfs me into his digestive acid erasing me out of any memento of existence, I await to be forgotten, my death a signifier of my failed task, what a pointless life.

Then the pages touch the nail of my index finger, and a revelation comes to my mind. None of this is real, it never was and never will be. The imaginary space slowly being erased out of existence, the blob screaming back not wanting to be seen again as a fictional creature. The darkness comes indifferent to and picks up me from my sleep

My eyelids suddenly open revealing Tharja's room where I was before, left untouched, there is no perceivable change. As I calm my breath, and try to soak whatever was happening from before, eyes twitching wanting to see if it is real or not. Tharja's voice resonates in her room, so loud it sounds like she is with a speaker: "Congratulations, you are worthy of holding it" I gaze around, to locate her around the lack of light.

Upon finding her, she holds a brand new black robe, with golden yellow marks inscribed in a regular zig-zag pattern, a purple color in the inner parts. Tharja puts above my original clothes, the soft fabric comforting me and easing me for what comes next.

She mutters a pledge: "Hereby today, I will be the seeker of knowledge of the world, to discover the unknown and understand it, to make the darkness the light that shines in the underworld, where the hidden shall help the unhidden, the evil it lurks is nothing compared to good it brings, I shall use for good and not evil, allowing my companions to thrive because of it and discover the beauty of the unknown," she ends and gazes at me.

"Repeat the sacred words."

And so I do, the oath to the dark arts being made and inscriptions coming under my feet, the purple light irradiating the dark room, confirm my situation as a new dark mage and apprentice of the magic. A bittersweet smile comes to her face, she doesn't try to hide it, until I notice her doing and promptly stops and glares at me.

She guides me into the cauldron, my legs still wombly from the stress of that unsettling

"dreams", my tired reflection empty gazes back at me. Out of nowhere, she pushes my head into the hot liquid. The bitter liquid invades my tongue, the taste of rotten medicine, my head goes back to the atmosphere, as I breathe normally, and dawn upon me this dark baptism.

I sit down in a chair, resting for a little bit of my body, my mind picking up the pieces left by the events transpiring. Tharja gives me an empty book and magical tint. My tired state waiting for a few moments to notice it. She leads my hand into the burn papers, the ashes painting my hand. She opens my book and presses the hand into it, finalizing the whole ordeal.

No more words need to be exchanged, the atmosphere already says by itself. The heaviest of the act being incorporated into my slow understanding of the world. By the end, I still need to get out, my day with Tharja already ended, and I don't have any more words to share with her. I quietly sneak out of her room, but Tharja stoic looks at me, she doesn't mutter any words, and the book and magical tint come with me.

The journey back to my room feels like a slog, my legs stumbling at every single moment, the walls helping me to get at my destination. As other dark mages go shocked by my new smell and clothing, the eyes wide open in surprise and mouth agape, incapable of comprehending why. I ignore their reactions as I finally get back to the door, get inside, and lock it. Leaving the book on the desk, I collapse under my bed, a soft thud announcing it. With my new clean robes, I sleep another dreamless night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that ends my most pretentious chapter yet. Hope you all liked, this time writer's block hit me hard, and as usual, I am not that happy with how this chapter end up, but hey it is better than nothing. I will try to release two chapters in a month, instead of one. I thank Cavik for beta reading it. At least this time, the grammatical errors aren't as prevalent as the other chapters.  
> I also participate in a discord server, here the link: discord .gg/9XG3U7a


	5. Status Quo

Hmm... hmm… What time is it? Hmm Hmm… Yesterday, I had this weird dream where I went to search for an obelisk and almost died. Yeah, that was unusual, and even more strange were the people and Tharja's looks. I mean I understand their reaction, who in their right mind would decide me of all people to become a dark mage?

Yes, I am Tharja's assistant, and more often than not most assistants tend to become dark mages themselves. But to me, a foreigner who wants to go home and never return to this forsaken land, to become an official practitioner of the dark art? Please, don't make me laugh.

Rhythmical steps dominate the silent landscape, while the gentle sizzle of torches makes their little melody in the background. People are walking again. Must be breakfast… this will be just another beaten down day of pure nothingness while I prepare nothing despite my utter contempt and realization if I do make a plan, I will probably die. But please, just for today, let me rest for a bit.

Grimleal and their sects, the coming war, Henry's weird machinations, Tharja's experimentation on my mind and body, and Robin, or in this case Reflet, being on the Plegian side, all of this can wait. I will waste my day as I was in all others: I will read so many things I will forget what I am supposed to be doing. Maybe today I will entertain myself with some story about the relationship of Russian half-brothers of the same father, maybe the existentialist adventure of some random guy on french Argelia, or maybe the words of the author-defunct, that snark guy.

I'm still grouchy when I get up from bed, with my eyes threatening to close at every single moment. It's a mild annoyance at worst though, the cold sensation of the ground waking me up a little. Well, let's see what I have in that weird wardrobe of mine. Opening the cracky door, dust accumulated from not being used comes out, despite the lovely content, I barely register the grains spreading through the air and ignore it because it's just dust, who cares about dust?

Anyways, greeting inside me is the dagger without an owner, what a dramatic name for such an unimportant piece of weapon. Picking up the blade, I go on and stab in the air, just little slashes in the air. Oh yeah, stab, stab, stab… Look at me, the assassin, I am going to murder all sense of seriousness right now. Of course, it is unimportant, why would I lie about the importance of this little piece of metal? what do I have to gain by doing such actions?

Anyways, I return the darn thing back to where it belongs, the dusted confines of this sole empty wardrobe that, for some reason, I never used. Just let it soak in the fresh dungeon's air, I have better things to do. I walk toward my desk, a small unnoticeable cobble in the ground appears, I wonder what the thing will do to me. I stumble on the little rock and almost hit my face flat under the hard stones of my lovely room. Oops, I shouldn't be so cocky against the eldritch powers of the floor.

Who cares I have better things to do than reminisce about the metaphysical and physical prowess of a rock located in the room.

I go towards my desk and avoid my deadly enemy, the oh so powerful stone pebble. Saying its name is already giving me shivers.

Oh, my lovable rustic desk where it's always messy no matter what I do, the papers, the ink, the times I am not able to read, all thrown out as if it is a battlefield. Scratches all over the wooden foundation, with some cloth to cover the damages. I ready myself to sit on the uncomfortable chair and upon sitting, the coldness of my seat sends shocks to me and wakes me up even though it is for a bit.

The journal was left untouched, thrown away. The page still flipped in an empty one, demanding I write something on it. I wonder why I didn't write yesterday? Whatever, I will write later, it is not like I am running on a limited time or anything like that.

Delusions after delusions. Sentences barely connect and also don't make a lot of sense, just another symptom of being drunk with sleepiness. Well, I don't care either way. I can fight this little bastard back as I have been doing since I existed. Wait, what am I supposed to be doing?

Oh, yeah, the tomes. I never talked about those. One thing I wonder is how these dark mages can summon these freaking spells out of nowhere. Yeah, there are the stupid instructions written down on the thing because of course there is a need to spell out the spell to any doofus who wants to use it. But you are also supposed to know how it's going to be like, what effects it will have. I tried a while back, It seems I don't have enough "imagination" to do spells.

Let me catch the one entry in the journal about this kind of stuff. Oh here it is:

7 _/27/20- MINHAS INÚMERAS TENTATIVAS DE FAZER MAGIA NEGRA_

_"If you have been reading this journal's logs, you must have realized since the first log I have been trying to do some spells, and I failed at every single one of them._

_In my preparations to go into the capital, an instructor of the dark arts was assigned to me, and what at first was supposed to be a very successful attempt resulted in nothing and I've returned to stack zero._

_I realized one thing: I don't think I have the magical potential to do the spells. In comparison, Tharja's whole life is dedicated to studying dark magic, and it doesn't help that her entire family knows magic._

_It is so unfair, but as they say, unfairness is a part of life we all have to deal with somewhat. Still, my experience is very frustrating nonetheless, especially when all your attempts become failures, heck I had some meltdowns yet again because of that. Still, I am lucky nobody saw. That nobody needs to know that._

_Hope when I get to the capital my situation and relationship with dark magic become a little better. Still, I am going to be Tharja's retainer in there, hoping she isn't as crazy as the game presents._

_And I still have to find whether Henry's talks about dark magic being addictive are true or not_. _Oh well, also-_ '' Blah, blah, blah, I never thought I would be so annoying, I talk way too much. I look at my desk and I find a book with a black cover.

Oh, there is a book that I don't recognize. Has somebody left it in here? Nobody comes here, at least none that I know. Well if this is the case, it will be a good idea to start turning the lock on the other side. Since it is already here and the owner seemingly didn't waste their time on getting back, might as well open it.

On the first page, a black palm painted into the print, littles splash of dark tint surrounding it, a sloppy feel into the whole composition created, no doubts, by some forced action. All the pages after it is all blanked out, white as milk as the smell of a new book comes to mind. I place my palm above it, because why not? It fits the contours of my hand one to one. Wait, why is there some elegant clothing, this black cloth with golden and purple markings…

Vai tomar no cú!

It seems things did go as I thought they wouldn't! Calm down, calm down! This is a prank, a really bad one at that, but this isn't possible in any way.! I didn't even think that I had the potential for magic or something weird like that, Just… Just… huh.. huh.

Nope, nope, I am not touching or getting near this "book" any time soon. You know what? I am not even going out of this freaking room today. It's better not to because this is another bad dream, a really bad dream, none of this real! Right! Right?!

Go to your comfy bed, this isn't your day, and go back to some weird reality, because what is happening isn't happening at all, after dreams all tricks, am I right? With a sense of urgency, I get up from the chair and all fall back on my bed. Go on, sleepiness, do your work, just let me wake up somewhere that isn't like this, please, or let me forget about all of this.

Minutes after minutes pass by, as my eyes don't even blink once in the brief period stuck in the bed, the memories of the book coming back again. Of course, it isn't. This just another instance of your life screwing you over and over, again and again.

It takes all my willpower to not curse life itself for bringing another mess to resolve. Since I had entered my foot in this hellish place, all my life has amounted to problems after problems, because why not?!

Slow down, ranting will not solve any of our problems, accept you are a dark mage right now, and look at the bright side, people aren't as likely to look at you annoyed as they were before...right?

Despite all this, you know this torment will not end soon. There will be war, of course, you shouldn't be worrying about this kind of stuff, focus on the small parts first then on the bigger picture. Ok, let's go, imagine the tome doesn't exist at all, and it is only a figment of your imagination, and ignore it for the time being.

Lifting myself, I take small steps. I don't want to stumble again, after all. And again, I go back to the same position upon the uncomfortable wooden chair and pick up a random piece of the paper on the battlefield called the desk. Wait, why can't I see anything? Oh, of course, you idiot, you forgot to light the candle, how the hell are you going to write without light? Hush, just breathe, yeah one two three four, inhale and exhale. OK, I can go now.

Picking the candle, I go to one of the inextinguishable torches of the place. One thing I wonder is 'how the heck do they continue to shine after months of usage?' Oh yeah, must be dark magic… or anima magic for that matter. Anyways, it isn't like the flame will kill me in any capacity.

Going into this ridiculous short back and forth, I must be an idiot to some extent. Hell, I always forget one thing. Regardless, I finally sit my butt on this hellish chair. Without further ado, I prepare my pencil and… hmmm, what will I write?

Oh yeah, no no no, this wouldn't work in anyways, what could I possibly write about? Talking about my sentiments is way too selfish and besides. What do I writeeeeeeee? My eyes gaze at the black cover of the book. Oh no, you are nothing thinking this isn't you, please. You know what? I don't care anymore, let's do it.

_Na imensidão vazia de páginas/ In the vasteness empty with pages_

_no santo sepulcro de almas/ in the saint tomb of soul_

_onde o desencanto te encontras/ where the disenchantment founds_

_e a ignóbil escuridão te levantarás/ and ignoble darkess will lift you_

_No passo no caminho a lugar algum/ in the step to nowhere_

_o véu e a seda te acometeras/ the veil and silk will posess you_

_como no sol que trazes más noticias/ like the sun who brings bad news_

_seu destinado não selado a um/ your destiny not determined by one_

_No escárnio nada se sabe/ in the scorn nothing knows_

_diluído pairando sobre a mente / diluted hovering above the mind_

_No nulo corpo de desdém/ in the null corpse of disdain_

_O que o livro trazes?/ what the book brings?_

_Há não ser no seu branco/ with not his whiteness_

_os frutos de outonos fulminantes/ the fruits of fulminant falls_

Here it is done. Hmmm. That was bad, really bad. What the heck does any of this even mean? It's only a bunch of edgy nonsense. And that's not even beginning on the metrics of this disorder. I am no Bilac, or Dante, or any of these poets for that matter. This is stuff you would find in a post of an edgy teen who had nothing better to do.

Well, what do I do now? Everything I did until right now was wasted on a bunch of wasted words, I will never get the time lost on this task back again. After all, this poem is a bunch of lazily thrown around the filler to make up for a lack of intelligence and understanding of this world. I wonder who would be the person to do this?

My eyes turn again to the dark cover of the tome, my restriction forbidding to even acknowledge it is existent, made even more attractive. I can't stop looking at it. The cover tempting me into recognizing its existence. What do I do, what do I do? Oh, maybe if I put a name on the thing, I will focus less on it, and redraw my focus on important matters instead. Here I go.

What name shall this personal tome be given? Something epic? Of the likes of Pandora's tome, or Hades… or something way less greek? Like lunacy or- I don't know. I was never good at naming anything, as such there is noth-

Someone knocks at the door, The bang capturing my attention, and disrupting the whole thought process. I hate and love you, oh unkindly stranger who bangs at my door. Hope you have nothing in your hands capable of killing me. You know the drill at this point. I pick up the book and I open the door.

Oh, it's Tharja…

"What do you want Tharja?" I say with the emotion of a rock, please just don't be another I need a lab rat for the new edgy hex I am trying, let's go now.

"The hex isn't going to test itself." She speaks with the indifference of someone seeing an ant; Oh, so you decide to cut straight to the chase? At least you are honest. But what the hell happened with our agreement of six-day rest and one-day work? Is it meaningless now? Don't tell me she decided to throw out of the window our little agreement.

"Ok,'' I don't even contain my sigh, letting my utter disappointment to the whole situation audible. Tharja just ignores it, as she always does and goes towards her room. She doesn't even need to utter a single word. I follow her as if I am a loyal dog to her owner, my head lowered, as I let my mind wander into the realm of nonthinking.

* * *

The room didn't change for a bit, well besides the smell, which isn't so putrid anymore, it's still the same old dark place, the only difference yesterday is the putrid feeling comes from, and not from the cauldron this time.

I indulge her a little bit and ask a question, "So Tharja, I am a dark mage now, right? So…I will be taught spells, hexes or something similar?" a part of me hopes.

"There is nothing saying that you would stop being my assistant, you only became a dark mage, that's it '' and she disregarded my existence for a bit, and went on to search the curse for today's experiment. Perplexed, I let myself fall upon her bed, and just let her answer marinate upon my head.

It was all for nothing, that was it. Only now do I carry some new status which holds some prestige, but it still is the same as before. I'm still her lab rat, that was it, nada de novo no front. How much I could have avoided all that headache from earlier if I would have known it only amounted to a bunch of new clothes and an awful smell to boot. I think I had already way too much headache for this lifetime,

"All that madness from the ritual was for nothing? All of these robes meant nothing, my blood and palm were wasted in a stupid tome, I have wasted an entire day for nothing, only a title without any real meaning behind it?" And it dawned upon me: what you have muttered, you idiot?

She doesn't reply to my question, but her face strains into a quiet scrawl. She stops ignoring my complaints about the whole ordeal when she turns her head. Her emotionless eyes become feral, their gazes penetrating my soul. I'm the lamb and she is the wolf, and one more slip and she will eat me without any remorse, a prey that spoke way too much. The orbs saying if I said this whole thing was a worthless ritual without meaning one more time, I would taste hell on earth.

I shut my mouth, as I try to contain my trembling body, the images of what comes next being a vivid painting of the empty canvas of mind, the worst of punishment being reserved to me: a hex that blinds the eye and destroys the skin, the necrotic skin itching and the curse forcing me to scratch without any moment to stop, or the one where the sensation of the time passed is still your conscious thought in real-time, hmmm… I cringe even thinking from that hell. Calm down man, you need to be strong, you need to be strong. I stop my trembling before Tharja can continue to watch my stupid state. You had done many things like this, a single insult is not going to make a curse worse, right?

I return my usual state of indifference, why should I care about things that never change. Tharja goes on and finds the curse she wants to do. She mutters an insociable word. Instead of my perception of language being altered, the world blurs, as if it is water, my vision drowns in a world, where sharp distortion takes hold, wobbly forms transform in my travels. I do not raise myself up for an obvious reason, I am not that dumb. But then, out of nowhere my arms and legs move out without my own volition. A futile attempt of my brain trying to stop them from moving around and be stuck in one place. Tharja, you bastard. I shouldn't have spoken, every time I speak I somehow get in trouble. I wonder why.

At every step taken, nausea takes its hold on my body, my legs feel more like a bunch of sewn together stick which somehow is capable of holding my body, the taste of bile coming at every second, constant enough to notice, but not enough to spill out my insides, the world makes goes round, the blurriness only makes it worse, at this point, I can't tell the difference between any of the shapes. Geometric patterns that amount to nothing. A pebble in the ground makes my face meet the ground.

Bam, the hard ground rings through my ears, the waves destroying any remnants of my senses. The sounds are one, while the pain vibrates through my nose, drinking a little bit of my mind, the confusion scrambles my brains out. I feel more dizzy and confused than a baby without their mother in the middle of the night. I try to fight back my tears, I am a confused child really, but I must persevere somehow. In reality, I am more of a pitiful corpse of a man in the ground, holding against the whites of my body to moan or cry away, This is life, after all...

Out of nowhere, the sensation stopped, the sharp reality turning back to me. The sudden return assaulting my brains as it tries to compute the information of the world yet again. I can only breathe as the dull darkness greets me yet again. I thank Tharja. This isn't the worst session I had to partake. I keep looking around my body just tired because of the curse. The hard feeling of the ground is somewhat comfortable. At least I can waste my day on this ground and nobody will care. Besides, of course, my master on the other side of the room.

A hand brings a concoction out of the ground, She brings the potion out my mouth and liquid drips out of my mouth, revitalizing me a little. That is until I pick myself up with my hand and drink all the contents. Yuck… the infamous taste of Vulnerary spreads to my poor little tongue, just making me want to puke all that pungent bitterness away. It feels even worse than expired medicine. Cursiottoy, some say the herbal content of it is why it's so good, the other camp says that the awful taste is why it is so effective. I agree with the latter. Holy hell, I cannot wait for the aftertaste that lasts an entire afternoon, I hope the water is going to ease it for a bit.

Well, I can just lay on the ground for the remainder of my entire life, after it isn't very productive for my goals, despite being a very attractive deal, it's a shame the court isn't a very sympathetic place for just being lazy. I don't want to keep wasting my days away. Why the clock must keep ticking on...

Whatever just get up and get over it.

I get up, the pain and all the dizziness of the hex gone away as if it was never there, to begin with. I do some rather basic stretches, costuming my body to the sensation of the world, well since I don't have many things to do, and since it appears our little agreement is broken for the foreseeable future, well, I might as well go back to my room, and devise some strategy, I guess. I wonder if I am capable of doing some stuff with the tomes, at least this time they won't collect dust as the other times.

I walk through the door as I always have for the past...six or seven months, I don't know anymore. I realize now, the days are the same thing as they've ever been with Tharja: go back to the dungeon, see if someone wants to kill you, sleep and repeat all over again and again. When I have lost so much control of my life to this routine? Brush away these thoughts, they aren't worth your attention, go on as always has to be, after all, does life change even for a single bit? Ok, let's see the saffr-

"Wait" She states imperatively and I stop as the "loyal" servant that I am. Holy hell, when people stop me from going to my room…

And where is your whole I am antisocial Shtick Tharja? You really forgot your whole agreement, didn't you?

"Yes?" Let's see what is going on within her mind then.

"There are a few things I would like to say" ok, then say them.

"Go on" I respond without any care, my face not changing at all, the good old poker face reigning supreme.

"Never insult our arts again. You know the consequences really well, the whole ritual has a reason Dark magic works on reason. Can you not see that you should be more patient? Not everyone can or should be capable of studying it," she says while giving a look which could kill, her eyes aiming at me with a distaste that rivaled when we first met, the aura capable of cowering the fearless of men.

"Hmmm, something more?" I just keep my face like one of rock, forever unchanging. You can not control her reaction, control yourself, remember the story of the philosopher-slave and you will be fine.

"Be patient, and it shall reward you, you might not be born in this world or have had any learning on magic, but you have potential, wasted potential, but potential nonetheless."

I have to practice, in other words.

"So, in other words, I shall be your apprentice then?" I don't have any other option in my hands.

"That we will see," she answers. I don't think she knows how to teach someone.

"Anything else?"

"Are the rumors about the vessel true or not?" Here we go, I saw that a mile away.

"Yes, they are true. I met her" It's better, to be honest, I don't think lying will get me anywhere now;

"Then, how is she like them?" A hint of jealous dripping from the eye, you know I didn't choose this right.

"Well, from that one time I've met her, she seems to be a good person, although she is quite sassy. She seemed to be curious about my origins. I wonder if she wants to explore the world, and that was it, nothing more."

I will not say that it was during the day of lamentation. Knowing how she is, I would probably die by telling her that.

"Is there something more to it?" she asks immediately after I give my answer, her excitement dripping from her eyes, betraying her slasher face at the moment.

"Sadly, that is all I could say to her, and no, I don't know what she likes or what type of person she's into."

She isn't satisfied with my rather laconic answer, but she acquiesces, maybe she will realize by now that I don't have the answer she wants so much.

"Is there somewhere I can go to see her?"

Oh no, Stalker Tharja inbound. Repeat Stalker Tharja inbound.

"I don't know, Master," she flinches at the word, "The only time I've met her was in the library. Besides that, I didn't meet her anywhere else. Also, her name is Reflet if you want to know."

A little grin arises on her pale face. She doesn't even try to hide her intentions, her imagination is filled with interactions with the vessel. Good luck Robin - sorry, Reflet - she will somehow find where you sleep. That is if Validar allows her to enter. And if that happens don't ask me about this, I am too tired for interrogations.

"Good, good, I cannot wait for our meeting" She mutters to herself and ignores my presence. Yep, the stalker we know is finally a reality.

"I will be going," and I leave her to her own devices. I don't want to see her stalkerish moments, I already dealt with her normal phase, I don't need to see another one, nor do I have the energy to keep up with this game.

Yeah, game. Remember that time where this was just a simple video game? Me neither. That's all I needed to remember that somehow this was related to the game. At least, I avoided death for today…

* * *

I spent the rest of my day locked in the little dungeon of mine, doing nothing. I didn't eat any meals today. After all the events happening, hunger is the least of my concerns. I didn't have the patience to read my books or to read anything at all. In mind, I just focused on the fact that now I am a useless dark mage, emphasis on useless more than anything. All in all, just another day.

As I get ready for my sleep, I check everything to see if everyone stepped their foot on this sacred place. Good, nobody seemed to go in this safe haven. I can sleep in peace.

What a boring day. Well, tomorrow is going to be like this, no doubt.

A bang on the door spoke me out. Who the heck bangs the door when everyone is sleeping? I pick up the dagger and open the door, readying it for the attack.

I hear feminine giggles on the other side. A hooded figure with a smile on her face holds a letter in her hands, the playfulness of the act revealing to me who the person is. I put down the dagger and with the grouchiness of a person who drank the wonderful cocktail that is sleepiness, I hastily pick up the latter and give the stranger a goodbye and she goes back to the darkness permeating the hallway.

_I put the blade back in place and go to my desk and read the letter._

_Hello_

_I liked our conversation before. Despite my father's objections, I like knowing these different worlds besides mine. It gets boring after a while of receiving the same old tired information. It would be way more productive to learn a little bit of the other world, even with passing details. Thereby, I invite you to have another conversation, please bring something more._

_That last tale was very fun, but you said it was very old. I wonder if there is something more modern in your library? I will see it. We will meet this Wednesday at the library._

_Hope you will be there_

_Reflet Fell_

Ok, let's see what you are up to? Besides, why does the Fell have a foreign name and not an Arabized one? I don't know this, but, well, it's a Fire Emblem world, so why should I question it? After all, they named a kingdom Crimea for crying out loud. Whatever. I put the letter above my desk and I go to sleep, and pleasant dreams invade me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this was the fifth chapter of Detachment. Hope it was better than the last one. I thank Cavik and Sentinel951 for beta reading this chapter. I want to thank everyone who read this fic, when I see this amount of people reading my stuff from around the globe I don't believe at all, I still don't believe. I also participate in a discord server, here is the link: https://discord.gg/9XG3U7a


	6. VI- an unexpected development

_Sun Tzu_ had a phrase that goes: 'Know your enemy and yourself and you will win a thousand battles, know only yourself and you are going to lose', or something along these lines. I think I've mangled the quote somewhat, I never read _The Art of War_ after all. But the point still stands; I don't have a single clue what I am doing right now. So here I am stuck in the ground looking at the roof, tired as hell and sweating bullets, while the tome on my side is open. To be honest, I don't remember exactly how I got to my situation. So I thought it would be a good idea to recapitulate the events leading up to this point, and as a way to clarify a bit of my mind.

In the beginning, I had woken up like any other day of the week, with my mind with sleepiness, and that was it. My mind told me this day was Tuesday, and I had a long one ahead. I wasn't shocked and I didn't care, even if It was long ago where I remembered what the days of the week were, there were other matters way more important than remembering if I was on a Saturday or Wednesday. They barely influenced my life up to this point, and for me, there were only two types of days: Tharja's days and resting days

Anyways, this day would be like any other one: sessions of reading literature books and trying to understand a little bit more of dark magic. I am so downright impressed by my laziness, mostly by how much I could have done if I wasn't so afraid of getting out and hearing some other voice beside Tharja's. As they say in my land: Sloth is the mother of all sins.

Before I could begin my daily duty as a reader and inexperienced " _user_ " of the dark arts, I craved breakfast, a most unusual craving as my appetite since I arrived some three months ago. Or it was seven? I don't know anymore. But anyway I didn't crave anything besides my survival, but hunger has struck again and brought me to a state of wanting to get out of my room for the first time in a while. I had routine breakfast beforehand, but Robin's arrival here didn't bring many wishes of getting out, and becoming a dark mage exacerbated the whole problem a lot. Imagine yourself becoming the center of attention for a whole day while being somewhat hated. And why most decisions are to be stuck in the room doing nothing. But despite all my ramblings, my sole reason was that I just wanted breakfast and nothing more.

As typical for the morning, it was as loud as an afternoon in the markets of the city. I got my food and got my foot to drag me where Tharja was. I wasn't the news of the times, but they still discussed themselves about the next ritual, why there are more troops than the usual, and their whole politicking. I would sit beside Tharja doing our silent ritual of quenching our hunger. Upon my humble arrival at the table, there was a white-headed devil on the other side of the freaking table. Why does my life hate me so much? A question nobody cares nor will answer since my relationship with this place is less than ideal, and besides not being the news, this time they still didn't get over the whole ordeal with the dead men.

I kept my face as emotionless as possible, hiding my utter irritation in realizing that my chair was occupied by none other than him, and I didn't want to start my morning with the voice of a hyena muttering about violence. So I turned around and went to the exit, to eat in my room, even if I was to be looked at with bad eyes this early in the morning, they would no doubt forget about my little transgression of not obeying my master.

Sadly, before I could get out…

"Mister Bilac, Mister Bilac!" He screamed my surname to the entire room to hear. I turned my head, ignoring the annoyed reactions of the onlookers. I saw the devil's spawn waving at me happily like a little puppy. As if that wasn't enough, he thought it was a good idea to have the subtlety of an unsilenced gunshot with the volume of his voice.

"Here! Here! Sit here! It is empty, look, look!"

He pointed one of his grubby cleaned fingers upon a singular chair at his side. I never thought I would find someone with the energy of someone who only drank coffee with copious amounts of sugar. Suffice to say I was wrong until meeting him.

I sighed upon my utter lack of choice. I had been discovered and had no way to escape right there, so the only solution was very simple: sit with the crow man and try to ignore his voice. Following my own advice, I did what I do best, and I sat on the wooden chair and ignored the man, a nagging thought in my mind: I didn't receive the peaceful breakfast I wanted.

I gave a quick nod to Tharja and Henry, the former giving another nod in reply, and the latter barely containing his dog-like energy waving at me, despite the distance between us being like a few meters. Ignoring him, I went back to my original plan of eating, but the moment I put my eyes on the food, the white devil spoke.

"Hiya, you got here! My intuition was right all along!" he said with a stupid grin on his face, despite his eyes being as cold as the eye of a crow eating his prey. I sweated a little upon seeing those. I didn't know what his plan for me was.

"Hmm," I replied while trying to ignore him and continue focusing on the now impossible task of eating under a quiet morning and not sweat bullets.

"I didn't expect less of ya! When I heard the rumors of a new dark mage, I had my doubts, but Tharja here told me you have become a dark mage!"

He spoke with infectious happiness that betrayed his eyes, his emotions unreadable to everyone but him.

I can only mutter one answer to such a phrase: "Hmmm."

"Keeping the stoneface forever, huh? Being a dark mage doesn't seem to have changed you that much, if at all. But it pains me a little, I thought you would be happier than the last time we talked."

What do you want me to answer? I became a "dark mage" and that was it, nothing more and nothing less.

"Anyways, Tharja how was your exper..."

After that, his whole conversation with Tharja became a string of unconnected words and expressions, a massive wall of sound in front of me. I ignored the annoying sound that came from his mouth. As afraid of him as I am, as if it wasn't enough horror-entailing his every action and his relationship with guts and death, he decided to take an annoying trait: he didn't know when to shut his mouth. In all honesty, I am not being that fair to him, but I hate when people talk in the morning period. After all, it is the period in which I tend to organize my mind, and I like my mind already organized for the day.

So I endured to the best of my ability, as I remembered the class of my philosophy teacher speaking about the stoics. The whole 'you cannot control the events happening around you, only yourself' and that was it. The name of the term was ataraxia, I think. I don't remember exactly. I kept my ears closed and my mind even more closed, as I kept distracting myself with the taste of the food and some adventure I made in my mind.

But if it was a normal morning, I wouldn't be telling about my blabberings, rambles, and rants about this specific morning. I wouldn't be wasting my time on such a useless period. By this point, you must have a clear clue of the person who started today's mess.

While I was eating my food with the speed of light, as usual, gobbing like a barbarian some might add, I noticed Henry uttering my name under his breath, a little contemplation in his words and a sense of curiosity in his tone.

"Fufufu, I wonder if our fellow Gabriel is capable of doing some dark magic."

I stopped eating my food the moment he spoke my name and looked at him confused.

"Uhhh..."

"Ummm, how about this? When the sun starts setting in, I will test his abilities with mine," He suggested to Tharja. I kept staring in disbelief. Why did he think I was prepared? And knowing the madness it would probably ensue, I would find my guts on the floor.

"You can't simply borrow my retainer." She retorts, her face a little bit strained, probably worried about the fate about to befall me and annoyed at someone suggesting such a stupid idea to a very simple situation.

"I know, but is there an easier way of knowing if he's capable of holding his intestine in place that isn't this one?" He inquires, perplexed as to why I and Tharja aren't so fond of this idea.

"He can't even cast Flux. Why do you want to throw him to the dogs this early?" She answered glaring at his eye, questioning his motives. Nobody removes Tharja's test subject, especially when he is this willing. But this is Henry we are talking about, the gaze never fazed the guy, he remained unaffected with his shoulders raised, confused for why Tharja and I weren't allowing him to do stuff with me.

"I never meant that. Why put words out of my mouth that I never said? This is not what I'm saying at all. I would rather know if he is capable or not, just this. C'mon it isn't like I want his guts down on the floor. It's best to work like that with someone that is already dead." He defended himself, not withholding his slasher-like smile.

"I can see that, but this is too early to even begin to fathom the idea of combat. He has been a dark mage for only two days," Tharja explained to him.

"Well, if he doesn't know, why not show it to him? It's not like someone wants to kill him."

Bold words to throw around, Henry.

Tharja enters her pensive state, one of her fingers up her mouth, chewing into it while thinking and weighing the pros and cons of allowing me to be "tested" against the crow psycho.

"See ya in the sunset, have to do some experimentation with the corpses," He jumped from the chair and gave us a goodbye wave and promptly walked towards the exit without any single hint of care in his face, a few onlookers glaring at the one who made wood clang with the stone floor. And when he arrived at the exit, he gave another of the hand waves and disappeared into the light.

He didn't give us any time to put any input or answer. That cheeky bastard! And now my plans for the day would have to be a curb stomp battle where I am the victim. Wonderful! Also, he forgot to finish his food. People are starving you know?

Tharja and I stare at each other, gobsmacked at first, and then reckoning from what comes next. Tharja's expression was an irritated sigh with a scowl adorning it, her usual composed posture changed. She barely contained her fist, while her eyes gave a death stare into the direction where Henry walked, thinking about the 1000 ways she would curse him and his progeny.

"Droga!" I whisper under my breath, another day of rest taken. Little by little I don't think I will have a week-long rest anymore. My mind boils with thoughts about the thousand ways I would kill and curse Henry out of existence. But after this loud display of mind that was silent to everyone around me, quiet despair ruminated through my body, any movement with my body stopped, while I gazed at nothing in particular. A splitting headache irradiated my head. I had long accepted my death as the final result of this confrontation. I didn't think it was this earlier, but that is what you pay for nothing paying attention.

* * *

"We don't have any time, you must prepare for this confrontation, or else…" Tharja said to me while preparing the tomes for my training. She only stated the obvious, but sometimes the obvious is the right answer.

"Ok, so what are you bringing with you?" With the Tomes already prepared, I asked her, as we got out of the room. After all, it is good to know what we are working with, and my knowledge of using dark magic…isn't great.

"Flux, Ruin, Goetia, Mire, and some flask of vulnerary," she answered me. There was only one thought crossing my mind when she gave the names: _I am so screwed._ All four of those were already way above what I could do. There was simply no way I could do this stuff. But Tharja and I abstained from taking this thinking forward, we already had way too much at hand, and bringing up another thing to the pile wouldn't help at all.

With time only passing, and the anxiety of the ever coming sunset impregnated into our minds, we did the only fast way towards my training: we sprinted to the corridor, people looking at us as if we were some kind of animal for running in the "sacred" corridor, as some might put it. The anxiety of being seen assaulted my mind, but my wish of getting alive was stronger and kept me somewhat intact for what would come next.

After some time of very loud steps, the sound equal to when a horse trots in, and the annoying glares of some folk, we finally arrived at one of the courtyards made especially for people who practiced dark magic.

The sun was still blooming in the sky, proudly waving his rays into the earth. To my utter dismay, the sun was blooming in the sky. The sweat from our running combined with the one caused by the irradiated heat is gluing to my body, unpleasant saltiness spreading through my tongue and eyes, while Tharja holds it just fine, indifferent to just another hot day in the desert.

The place doesn't have any roof standing direct to the sun and a pitfall leading to the dunes. Part of the floor is made of cracked stones and another part made of gravel dusting the rocks. It belonged to a series of open spaces rather than an enclosed system of rooms. By its design, all the free space is for the usage of magic, fractured, and burned ground showing their usage. The courtyard is surrounded by pillars holding an area blocking the sun serving as its entrances. The wall inside is as white as milk, notwithstanding single damage serving as a restroom also.

,

There were no onlookers, besides Tharja, so my nerves didn't get as frustrated as they could have been if someone was watching. Because of the lack of people, my patience was better than earlier this morning: I could breathe on my own and nobody would notice. Despite the scorching heat rivaling the hottest day from back home, one part of me thought that with enough patience and concentration it would be possible to cast magic today, and the other said it wasn't possible in a month, why would it be any different today? I shut up the latter of the two. I didn't need another enemy.

"Tharja, what tome should I be using?" I inquired, the doubt creeping at my face, as the sweat from the tension mixed with the hot brimming sun marinated my head with the doubts of the next events and what was possible.

"The best one would be Flux, but I don't think we have enough time for any in reality" Tharja stated, her face marred by an uneasy emptiness, the little cracks of caring different from the usual indifference she often walked within this world.

This didn't help at all. Even If I could cast this, the time was passing ever fast in my imaginary clock, the seconds and minutes lost on the way towards here being discounted into the practice time we had. Any more words than necessary and movements and my death would be certain.

"Just… bring it to me," I told Tharja while I tried to maintain my indifferent composure, a little hesitation in my voice as anxiety racked up inside little by little like a drop feeding a river. My hands fidgeted on my body, while my feet tapped on the ground trying to dispel the dread of what would come next

Tharja nodded and gave me the famous Flux, the basics of all dark magic of this world. With its characteristic cover that everyone who studied dark arts even for just one day in their life knows from the back of their mind: purple with a white font saying _flux_. Her steady pale hands contrasted with my burned twitchy one. Her tense glare told me what her order was: _Don't screw this up, okay?_

I nodded and gulped the dry saliva stuck in my mouth while receiving the book in my hands. It weighed with the events leading up to this point, heavier than a tonne of metal. One small mistake and I could call my quest to go back home over. With this in mind, I opened the book, exposing myself to the stressful air surrounding me. The words printed on its yellow pages indicated its usage. _The mist of the aura spreading through the air is a mystified one, every single type of magician knows that. The difference for us is we control the flow of its existence. One can change it and turn into a mighty weapon at its own right - the author of this tome..._

Upon reading the words, I spread my body and tried to mutter the words in my mind in vain, still adhering to my faint hope it would work. Reality isn't a very kind mistress to its inhabitants. Nothing came, not even a single spark or sensation in my body, only the hot air passing through my body like the gut feeling on my stomach and head devours any other emotion or subtle sensations.

I took a long breath. _If you don't remain calm, don't even try thinking of succeeding, because you will never get there with all this tension passing through our body._ Also, the ray of the bright orange sun was irritating my face and eyes, puncturing hot needles cooking the skin with drops of sweat as the spice. The pitch darkness of light blinded with the paradoxical brightness of photons. This was another day in the oven called Plegia.

One, two, three. I counted with rhythms. I kept the little beats in my hands. Maybe if I thought like it was some kind of music, it would be a little easier for the magic to go through my fingers. One, two, three Snapping fingers I tried, but nothing emerged from it, so I did the little mistake of looking at the book and nothing more, stopping what I was doing beforehand.

The little mistake stabbed as hard as getting the wrong notes of an already known composition on a piano. The neck strained as harsh as the frequency of two semitones being hit without context. I twisted with the unavoidable pressure, the mad dance of failure contorting with its practice. The saliva mixed with bile insulting my mouth as the critics of 20cth classical music, I tasted the bitterness of my inwards as the unresolved tension of a non resolved chord progression. At any moment I could explode as hard as the loudest parts of _The Rites of Spring._

Before any of the metaphors conclude to their logical chaotic conclusion. I stopped, refraining from continuing any of the incomplete sonata being played with the unstable musician. I couldn't afford right there, I didn't need splitting headaches and the shame coming back to me like this, I never wanted this. I fall to my knees, little tears of anger escaping from my eyes, grinding my teeth through the inner turmoil storming my distorted peace

Tharja looked at the chaos unfolding at her side. Me, her only retainer collapsing under the uncontrollable nerves born with him. I could only read her ominous expression, little shadows hiding her eyes. The small silent period was the calm before the storm. Without any input from me, She grabbed me by my robes' collar and dragged me into the shadowed parts of the courtyard.

I gasped at her, trying to recover air from the choking caused by the pressure against my neck in the robe. I could only see the dark roof in my eyes, the cold ground alleviating from the intolerable heat from the outside. I could only stare at Tharja as I tried to get my bearings. After a minute, I got up from the grounds and refreshed myself with some twitchy movements. You could call that calibration if you want, I use the verb _to relax._ Under the presenting to ourselves. I thought to myself maybe with a little more effort it could be possible, right? Right!?

"You are never going to get it right as you are right now. You are too unfocused. It shows. You almost collapsed even before getting any of the spells right. I should have told you to be in the shadows. Didn't the instructor tell you this one basic rule before?"

She complains about my inefficiency as a dark mage, so poisonous she doesn't even try to hide it. As I thought, I was an only failure and nothing more. I didn't answer her, the shame kept me from talking, confirming to Tharja her hypothesis, while I avoided stating the truth. But by the end, I think she realized the truth all along.

"Since we are already stuck on this problem, I will fix it. So follow with my next steps." She orders. Since I care very much about my life, I do what she tells me to do.

"So first of all, focus on something. Don't even try to focus on eyes, it doesn't work. Focus in another sense, let the sensations of the unknown enter into your being. Don't avoid it, it isn't your enemy. It's your sole friend in here" She instructed me, saying her words in a calm tone as if nothing happened.

I try to focus on the other sensation that exists in my body that takes charge instead of my vision in an attempt to succeed. To go with the flow as some might say. Trying to change the focus from what is happening to my eyes, an immeasurable task. To make it succeed I try to close my eyes and let my body and mind tell me what to do next

The unstable beating of my heart resonated through my body, the blood helping it with a little melody of its own, playing with the small violin with a rage stronger than a thousand cannons. Creating a disparate orchestra. Brusque and barbaric. Dissonant in its playing. Chaos was its principal actor, and it would bow to no one. So the only possible way to connect with him was to play along with his game, like a miraculous mandarin.

I can feel the rapid air pass by the burned skin. Refreshing and alleviating a little bit of the pain. Its flow is unpredictable, often going left and right, up and down. Circulating and encompassing my being. Like a little invisible cape. Maintaining such a cape strains my body, feeding off the energy. I keep breathing in an attempt to keep my focus.

"Good, keep the focus. Now try to cast Flux," Tharja commended, with a cold and very precise tone to her voice. Any small mistake of my part would nullify all the effort made by both of us. I had to get I right or else.

So I prepared the tome in my hands, one eye focusing on the texts and the other one closed. Reading the text was a challenge in and of itself. The letters became smaller until it wasn't readable anymore, a bunch of squiggly lines and dots. The amount of pressure made on my body was no joke, it crackled and cracked by the flows in the air, resonating within my bones. I readied myself up trying to destroy the constraints on imagination in my mind and liberate it…

I was not capable.

The exact moment I began reading the text, my whole formation broke down. The amount of energy was way too much to be sustainably held in my body. In other words, I wasn't conductable enough to let the magic energy pass through my body. As it was before, I collapsed onto the ground and tasted the bitter taste of cold rock in my tongue. I punched the ground hard, making little red spots all over my hands and distributing the sharp dull pain all over it.

Anger flooded me like a broken dam, the waves consuming my brain. I wanted to curse everything in this world from bringing me here to this hell. The Fatimids from bringing me here, the court for being this snake's pit of living, and me, for being too lazy, and allow the situation to slip off my hands and spiral out of my control. I breathed for rest and allowed me time to think. Since I was already deep in this mess, to begin with, why not try again? if Henry is not kidding, I am going to die anyway. So I will try my hardest. After all, why not take one last choice?

I lifted myself, sat down, and slowly took my time to analyze what I got so wrong and to rest from all the strain caused to my body. Even on the hard cold floor, it was enough for my exhausted state. It was a cushion of rocks, but a cushion nonetheless.

For the duration of my resting period, Tharja didn't say a single word. Sadly, I cannot tell for sure if it was her understanding of my situation with my magical ineptitude and my need for a break to do proper full recovery and then succeed, or quiet despair accepting my fate as a dead lab rat for Henry and not her live subject.

Realizing what I got so wrong, I arose from my state of peace to try again, accepting the chaos I was putting myself under. My body was still strained from the attempt, my legs and arms' muscles sore from trying to exert a power I didn't know how to control. I go with the flow again. With only one key difference: I would let myself focus on what mattered and not on the sole part like during the previous failure.

The exhale and inhale were my metronome in the little prelude called "Flux". 1, 2, 3, the waltz of flows re-emerges dancing upon my skin, playing upon my ruined body, making their steps known to me. Chords of the ebbs of the unknown pass through my veins, connecting with the dances of the energy. And with a melody of the vein harmonize with the melody of the artery. The brain coordinating the piece as if it was their little conductor, I felt so free and so in control in this single little moment, all the pieces fit in the place, as every single little mistake I've made had meaning.

I saw a purple mist surrounding me, painting the atmosphere into a relaxing dreadful tone of unknown to the piece. Under my feet, three circles burned bright with the ripe orange while the other orbited around me with little seals, runes, and geometry threw around in disjointed forms. I felt as if I could smash the world in my thumb and nobody could stop me. I basked in the sweetness of the rays and mist. **And I wanted more of it.**

The addiction to such power contradicted what I wanted in my mind. The power which corrupts. The stabbing mist sucked all of the air from my body and the atmosphere. An orb almost formed from the conversion of the uneasy air surrounding it, radioactive in its nature. The once primordial dive into what seems to be a paradise revealing itself to me its true nature: the unknown. I stopped once the orb had taken the energy from me, the mist ceased to exist. I could only taste the air and bitter ground where my face had plated. I had overestimated myself.

And that leads to my present situation right now. Thinking about it, so much has happened in these few hours and, worst of all, I don't know what time it is. I forgot to even count what was happening outside. Losing the sense of time, what a classic. I just want to go to bed and nothing more.

Tharja comes to my field of vision, staring down on me. Her face didn't change at all during all these months, while mine has deteriorated. Don't get me wrong, she is still as creepy as ever with pale death-colored skin who didn't ever change despite living in a blistering hot furnace called Plegia and belonged more to the reaper than a real person, with lack of any blemishes or marks.

And the eyebrows who looked down at everyone by its very essence, ignoring most of the people and arrogant even, and had any plans in case something had gone wrong, but maybe this is mere paranoia. Compared to me, with two purple circles surrounding my eyes, sunken eyebrows, and the skin grimed with dust and sand. This face had seen better days. Sadly, this will not change soon enough, but one thing I promised to myself, is that when I get home, I will sleep 12 hours a day, and nobody will tell me otherwise.

I don't know if I can sense any pride in her stare, darkened by the lack of light and volume of hair, two unreadable orbs gazing at me. This time It doesn't even bother or creep me out as before, I already saw the situation we were in. She saw the "successful" conjuring that I wasn't even capable of holding for much longer. Disappointment and shame walk around my mind. Despite the initial sweetness of conquest and possible horror dwelling inside it, it was so pitiful compared to my old two friends here standing beside me for a long time.

Nothing has changed, nothing at all.

After a moment I can see what is behind their eyes. The once arrogant or annoyed look disappeared, the woman who seemed to have a contingency plan for every single situation realized that nothing could be salvaged. It is just like the old time.

The sunset seated on the horizon, the once-powerful flames of the afternoon only left with embers serving as the painting into the bittersweet orangeness befalling into the beginning of a new one. The taste of the ashes and sweat scattered by the sunset waving his little rays at us. The nostalgia tastes more bitter than coffee, the silence has sunken to a melancholic haze. The world has become static as we didn't move, any single detail didn't change into the canvas of the landscape. After a while, it will be night and that will be it.

With nothing left to salvage but only my tired frame, I decided to ask Tharja "Do... yu kn no w wh whe where Henri' at?" Hesitations mark my speech, words stumble on each other, some mix, others not so much, while stuttering in my mouth, my accent returns thicker than oatmeal speaking, my hands tremble a little, and my eyes twitch. My mouth dries by trying to spill out the question.

"I don't know. He never told us." She states as matter of fact, the point of no return coming to my mind. I was so close, and yet so far. She isn't facing me, only staring at the skyline., I guess it was a rather peaceful end to it. Little steps on the furthest side of the crack in the rocks

"Heya, sorry for stopping the moment, but we agreed to something," Henry says, interrupting my thoughts, so suddenly I don't know how to react when his voice reaches my ears. We turn our heads to the psycho who had a good idea to stop this bitter moment. He keeps smiling at us as if nothing happened. I am not ready for this, not at all.

"So where did you "plan" this whole massacre to be?" Tharja spats, glaring at the man who in a few minutes will probably kill me. As for me, I don't know what to do. I keep looking at the scene unfolding in front of my eyes.

"Y'all misunderstood me. I wasn't trying to butcher him into a corpse. If I want to do it I would get someone deader than him," He tries to explain to us with the same good creepy smile on his face. He doesn't even flinch at any of the words pressed against him. This is nothing worse than what has happened in his life.

"So why do you decide to fight him, and without giving us even a chance to refute otherwise?"

If looks could kill, Henry would be already dead, and I wouldn't have to go through this stress. With her tome ready, she targets in his head. Before the whole situation could degenerate into a bloodbath for all sides, I intervene.

"I will do it," I reply.

Tharja stops looking at him and stares dumbfounded at me, "Do not jest, why would you want yourself to mee death?"

"Give the man what he wants to. I don't want to be stressed anymore," I don't care, let's go with it, and it will be rather quick.

"Do you have any idea of what you are doing!?" Tharja shouts at me as loud as the quietest night where only the sound of the wind could be heard

"Yes. Delaying the inevitable is not going to happen anyway, sorry," I try not to bow my eyes, and somewhat succeed on this endeavor, only a little bit of tears escaping from my eyes.

Tharja doesn't take it well, she doesn't cry or tries to expose any emotion, only a big frown on her face is enough, a little despair in her eyes, as she tries to process what is going to happen next and becomes like a statue, unmoving.

"So where do you plan to do this duel?" I return to my stoic expression, removing the tears from the trail on my face. At this point I only want to end this soon, I don't like my time to be wasted, especially when the situation got a little bit emotional and I would rather not think about it.

"Finally! Well, I had a place in my mind, but I think this is also a very fine place to do it and…Nah, let's do it where it was originally planned," He says and goes again towards his destination without any warning, ignoring me and Tharja again

"So where is this place? Give me an answer!"

"I never said where it would be?" He asks me confused, his smile still on the face but with the difference that he is putting his finger like an anna.

"No," I almost ask how the hell the man could plan the duel and forget to tell me where it would be, but I remember this is Henry we're talking about. Sanity isn't his strongest suit.

"If that is the case, just follow me. I know where it is, hihihii" he laughs at the whole situation.

I think he is thinking about the massacre he is going to do with my body. Why are you laughing? There isn't anything to laugh about this, you obtuse guts-loving maniac! And I shut up for the rest of the trip.

* * *

"We finally arrived, here is the prettiest courtyard ever made."

The new "courtyard" is a little bit different. First of all, it seems to be an internal place retrofitted to become a new courtyard. Cracks are meandering on the roof, wall, and floor. The illumination is provided by a few torches and the light shining from the aforementioned cracks, with a few parts that remain still shrouded in the darkness. The place is scribbled with runes and circles necessary everywhere, where the lines begin and end isn't so clear, with some going on top of each other, symbols mixed. there is no cohesion and in the end, what this amounts to is a bunch of scrawled chalk.

The ground is made of broken unequal rock putten with a few holes here and there, the sand filling the parts where it didn't have any, but not enough making for covering all the height of the cavity; making for the uneasy stepping ground where depending on what your footing is: either our foot is on the floor or lower than it. Many parts are littered with corpses, some fresh and some not so fresh, blood painting the ground red, while some organs are left without care, while his dearest of crows, with plumage as dark as the night, feasts on the cadavers of the dead people. The putrid smell of larvae eating makes me want to vomit and ask why someone would possibly want to work with this.

Then, to my surprise, I saw in the farthest part of the room a broken bed with a gnashed blanket and pillows, with some clothes thrown around for good measure. The tomes stacked at the side of the bed were as disorganized as mine.

So I found out where this psycho lives. It would be depressing, but I don't have any sympathy to share with this man.

When he arrives and steps on the ground, all the crows stop eating and come to greet their master, surrounding, and playing with the white-haired man. They peck his foot and arms and beat the wings on his face to make him pay attention to them.

"Calm down everyone! Pippin, Guzin, Loquz, Kuzni, Solvi, you are all getting hugs and pats from uncle Henry."

So he picks up one of the birds and slowly pets them, a genuine smile coming across his face. He is their family and his family is them. It would be cute if it wasn't for all the corpses thrown around and the fact the man in question would love to kill me.

Upon patting one of the creatures, Henry remembers what he is supposed to be doing right now, "Now go little dark ones. Uncle here has something to do with the stonefaced man."

The crows, understanding Henry, stop playing around him and go back to feast on one of the corpses again.

"So did you bring with you the items for our little test?" I show him the Flux tome in my hands and some of the vulneraries in my robe, "Good, let's begin then."

Without any warning, the bodies awake from their slumber and begin moving in an instant, as the man in question mutters the words from the book in his hands. The feeling that he was waiting for this moment to come is not lost on me.

The corpses move with rigidness, incapable of moving the arms, with angular and robotic turns, the cracking of bones audible everywhere in the room. They stumble with any simple movement, slamming with each other, and almost falling at every moment from their inconstant way of walking, broken marches of threes and fives but not twos.

Leaving me with ample space to maneuver and prepare my time accordingly.

My frame is still tensed by the events beforehand and by the incoming things. Making it a little harder to concentrate and focus on the spell Flux.

But before I can I ready the book and prepare for an attack, Henry realizes what he's dealing with and groups the reanimated corpse into a horde, ignoring me and leaving more space. But when he finalizes the agroupment, he forces their bodies into a rapid succession of movements, ignoring the rotten aspect of them. Some crumble to the floor, some maintain their posture, but now they walk as fast as me.

I run in circles as I try to avoid the incoming attacks and failed grabs from the mangled things. Wait, how many of them are there?

_It's five. No, six. No, seven. Yes, it is seven._

They abandoned their original formation trying to surround me from all sides, while the dark mage doesn't even try to take this seriously, only watching one of his crows resting on his physique, while I dodge their incoming attacks.

A sudden force seizes one of my feet. Looking down at it, rotten blood-soaked hands snatch them on the heel. The thing has a skull instead of a proper head, with only a few patches of flesh remaining, the eyes gouged out with an unknown liquid coming out of it, and only the mandibles and his tongue in there, the nose has long gone from its socket.

The others are coming to grab me while he stays in the same spot. I keep trying to kick the freaking thing, parts of it falling off, but not enough to make him stop. The pressure in my foot worsened by the second, the sound of rupture coming to me as I grind my teeth to resist the pain. I lift the other foot and smash with all my force the bastard's skull out, a gooey crunch coming out, tainting a little bit my shoes with a red-brown color with a few spots of black.

Calm down, calm down, this was way too close. Keep looking, there are more of them and they would love to kill as this destroy-

Another force grabs me, this time by my arm. The perpetrator is another figure just as disfigured as the previous one, the sole difference being it had hair and was filled with fungi covering his cheeks and what used to be eyes.

With my fist clenched, I punch the bastard. The hard skull endures against the crack and sudden snap of my palm, the burning soreness takes hold in the little spaces between my bones, the finger could cut off at any moment with the pressure applied.

I flail my fingers and arms in the cold air of the room, the stinginess of needles being dulled out. Then it starts munching on my arm, the little teeth making incisions and marks on the covered part of my arm, sticky rotten saliva coming and soaking a part of my robes. My biles almost come to my throat.

I realize I don't have any time left to keep on this game of cat and mouse, bites and punches. With all my force, I must ignore all the pain surrounding the palm and clenched until the mark made by the nail can be seen and strike the skull with a final blow.

_Crack_

The skull explodes into a thousand parts hitting my face, the floors, and the walls, revealing the rotten mush inside, the slime touching a part of the front of my fingers, and falling out of the skull-grail. It is like a snot, gooey, and holding against me. I could even feel the teeth eating my arm.

Holding back my wish to vomit, I grab the remainder of the brain and I push it with my palms, the smell of cockroaches and rats invading my nose and the bile threatening to come out again.

The zombies fall to the ground, a thump while leaving me with the tainted liquid in both my hand and foot to deal with.

Wonderful, just wonderful!

Then I sense there is nothing in my hands, the thing has fallen to the ground, the soundwaves are being blasted to the whole room. Before I can pick up and go back, the other things slash my back and I fall on the ground and grab the darn thing while dodging the incoming attack and go to a safe place by rolling my body.

Lifting myself from the mess, I keep reading the damn book, trying to see any indication of how to use it in a freaking battle, while I try to run away from the monster wanting to make me their next meal. Concentrating, I find a way to conjure Flux and save my life from the psycho who wants me to become a corpse.

The same method yet again. Yes! One two three, like a waltz, yes like a waltz, imagine the music.

My surroundings become thick, purple mist, blocking my view from the zombies or Henry. The freaking thing I was trying to pull out all this afternoon and morning, now being able to form.

YES! Finally, we can do it!

The mist is sharp as a knife and spreads like a gas. I must contain, do not disperse, then I condense it into an orb just like said on the damn book. It's all coming together!

Then a sound emerges, buzzing like a helicopter. A giant X forms in front of henry, the marks of the spell under his feet as sources of electrical power shocking the ground and the air, connecting and disconnecting with the electrons while the imperative X creeps out in the room illuminating the room in a shiny dark blue. Henry is aiming at me… oh no.

He launches it from his hand and it goes in the general direction towards me. I fall under the hole, hitting my skull yet again, now with a taste of sand for a bit of variety. The ground had become dark with no traces of any dust, while the smell of cinders came and blazed my nose. Within a moment, a foul scent could be smelled in the general area. Upon inspection, a fire could be seen feeding on the organic fuel of the dissolved ash of the creatures.

What the hell Henry? Do you want to kill me or not!?

My breath collapses, a scarring agony coming to my body, the veins popping out as the blood boils and evaporates in them.

It was one of the electric stands _, Filho da puta!_ A small burn adorns my torso and clothing, not enough to spread but still there. To even stand is a challenge and a half, with the screams of organs objecting to doing such action.

The dark mage coming to finish his work, still smiling as if nothing has happened before, the playfulness of jester making a little dance while coming to it.

_Merda!_

Since I am going to die, I prepare my last spell to bring him with me. I don't care, whether this bastard is going to kill me, I'm bringing him down with me. I drink one of the bitter vulneraries, to keep myself conscious while I activate the spell.

One, two, three. Like a waltz.

The mist returns with all the addictions it comes with, orbs assembling from the mist surrounding it, the electrical markings forming under me in pale orange as weak as the seller.

My muscles strain, rupturing along with the cuts forming as the blood starts falling into the ground. In an attempt to coordinate the attack, my mind gets more confused as left and right become a sole direction and Henry stands on the farthest side and too close to me. Every single second, a sensation is lost. There are no more feet or arms. There is only the torso.

With nothing more to resist, I aim at his face. This will destroy him for sure. From the palm of my hands, I release my last attempt.

My body collapses. It was so tiring, so tiring.

I'm drained. There was no sensation of touch, my mind was flying around between a state of consciousness and unconsciousness. Every movement I thought with my head, my body didn't respond.

Henry came from the attack, the guy had dodged and entered my vision, looking down on me just like Tharja. He says something.

"Heya, know you are dead, and your guts are on the floor. If you knew some more you wouldn't be lying on the ground, kikiki."

I don't try to lift my head around, it is a futile attempt, let me rest some more.

Then I heard a noise, and before long Henry was hit by a dark projectile into his chest, flying him out of my vision.

"What did you do to my assistant, Henry!? You lunatic, don't even think of escaping without getting hexed alive!"

Tharja why so furious? I'm just tired, it's not like you care much about me, right?

I hear solemn steps, not very loud, a certain instability to them. Coming to my vision, her typical scowl is there with teeth only collaborating. But wait, why are you crying? Is this the case? Whatever, let me sleep, please.

She takes a concoction into her hands and brings it to my mouth. The bitterness invades my mouth, the energy pierces my body, in one second I blink a thousand times and I feel more alive than ever.

I lift my head, I am still alive! What? Where is the white-haired bastard?

"Where is him?"

She points at the men still standing, despite having a small hole in the body, blood spurting out of the fissure

"At least, you brought some vulnerary in case anything had gone out of hand."

I take this as a compliment.

"Why did you stop me?" Henry asks with confusion on his face, the first reaction beyond a smile to adorn his face.

"By this point, this isn't important, you clown. You are going to pay" Tharja states, preparing to finish the job and snap the life out of him.

"Hey Tharja, I didn't plan to kill him at all. Just a test. If he couldn't survive on a battlefield, his blood would paint the ground," He tries to defend himself.

"So why bring him to a fight to the death? You even hit him with a spell. You were planning to kill him!" Tharja readies her tome, a small orb of energy coming out.

"No, no you are overthinking this. All I wanted was to test him."

"Don't answer with the same answer," Glaring down at him she lifts me and allows me to stand beside her, my head on her shoulder.

"Tharja, just lead me to my room. I don't want to see anymore nor do I want any more bloodshed today."

Understanding this, she stops casting and goes to the exit, but before we could set on foot outside and try to rest...

" Hey, hey," The hyena intervenes "I know I didn't make any of us happy right now, but how about this? I help our friend Gabriel here get to be a good dark mage user, and I don't lay a single finger on him and you keep watching me."

"We accept it," Tharja says.

_Hey!_

"Tharja what the hell you are thinking?" I mutter in her ears.

"Don't worry, he will have a taste of hell. Curses and hexes are the best way to deal with this clown."

I like your way of thinking right now.

"At least, I can now use Flux, I guess," the only positive out of this whole day

"Wait, you used Flux?" Tharja glares gobsmacked at me

"Yeah, I could use the darn orb," I betrayed my 'stone face', as Henry put it, one more day survived, a cheeky smile in which I couldn't contain. Glorious

"Good to know" she doesn't try to hide the little smile of proudness on her face.

Still, I have a long way to go but I ain't annoyed at such things as much as before. After all, Rome wasn't built in one day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that was chapter 6 of detachment. I realized I can't write fight scenes or anything really. I want to thank Cavik and Stormtided_leviathan for beta reading this chapter. Also, thank everyone for the continued support of this mess. I don't know what the hell I am doing for the most part but I hope you are all liking how is this is coming I also participate in a discord server, here is the link: discord .gg/9XG3U7a
> 
> See ya in the next chapter


	7. VII- The Vessel and a foreigner

After yesterday's whole mess I decided to take this day as a resting and relaxation day from my typical affairs. I doubt Tharja would annoy me today since yesterday she said "You already had a rough day. For the success of experimentations and curses, it would be best to take some time to rest."

Oh, my master, I will take every little second of this time to lazy around like no other.

My body isn't rested yet. The damage I took yesterday was too much for a whole flask of vulnerary to take effect, so I had taken my damaged body to the white mage here. Even in the country of dark magic, everybody needs a white mage. After all, they are the only people with the ability to heal. Imagine the combination of herbalist, surgeon, and priest and you will get the gist of what is supposed to be a white mage.

It was my first time going to a white mage. Up to yesterday every sickness or problem I had was resolved with vulneraries. Now we had to rely on someone who knows stuff, instead of curing everything with the magical concoction.

"What brings you here, Tharja?' said one of the doctors, a little surprised to see her. The reaction to me was strange. Do white mages even speak with dark mages? I didn't bother to care at all. For all I know, they might be someone Tharja knows.

"It isn't for me, it is for my retainer. Henry decided it was a good idea to hit him with _Ruin_ of all tomes," She explained to the "doctor". He was flabbergasted by the fact I was hit by a Ruin tome, showed by his open mouth and eyes wide open in surprise.

"The Ruin tome!? Holy Grima, the fact he still has all four arms intact is a damn miracle," He turned to me, "If you don't mind, where were you hit by the spell?" I pointed to a charred part of my chest, my veins visible to the naked eye with the deformations in the skin, a dark chasm covering the area.

A few parts of my clothes were smelling like ash. It wasn't in the new robes but the old ones. Still walking with a hole wasn't fun.

He touched the part hit by the rays of Ruin with one of his grubby fingers. The pain, how could I classify it? Well, to start it felt like being boiled in hell's cauldron, a thousand little needles pressing with a brute force against the flesh stinging and blinding my senses, the saliva coming out of my mouth at this point. The doc immediately stopped touching when he noticed my reaction.

"This was to be expected. To this day, I don't think I am accustomed to seeing Ruin's injuries, the patient always comes in dead. They are a bitch to treat. And you, little fella; you are one lucky son of a bitch to survive this whole mess."

I wasn't expecting him to have such a foul mouth, but I liked that. I still didn't trust him, though, and kept a little more away. A little bit of paranoia goes a long way.

"Hmmm," is all that I replied with, the white mage groaning and frowning at my response.

Then he turned to Tharja.

"He isn't a talkative one, is he?" A hint of irritation was in his tone,

"No," she answered, indifferent while keeping an eye on me.

"You aren't so different in that regard," It was Khalid, and now the "Doctor". I guess there is some bit of truth there. Still, I don't think an obsession with Robin happened with me.

"Henry is always a problem," he groaned, "The guy keeps robbing corpses even after we told him not to. Well, at least he helps clean up by transferring them to his personal courtyard. At least I don't have to smell rotten bodies."

At that moment, I realized I didn't like him that much.

"Hmm hmmm, so what?" Tharja reminded him of what he was supposed to be doing with a death glare.

"We start now!" He picked up a staff and started muttering some weird words. Stuff like "qlwo qouz kloz Koib," and some other sounds I couldn't even begin to phantom.

I felt the broken tissues extending and connecting like strands of spider webs, recovering from the burning hell I had endured. The tingles disappeared to the air massaging my body, the charred part peeling off like a small cape of ash to reveal a soft skin with no scars

"There, done. I thought it would be worse, but it was easy. Now I have some important matters to attend to. Get out!"

I got out the moment he had finished the sentence, thinking better of thanking him or anything, and went with Tharja to the area where our dorms were. Tharja and I said goodbye to each other. Me with a nod and her a: "take it easy". After this moment, I did the old routine of locking the door and sleeping

This led to my current state of awakening. I have a whole day to myself again and I'm thinking about what I could possibly do. I'm not in the mood for reading, I want something else, just anything to quench a little bit of boredom.

I wonder where I can go in these empty confines called my safe house. Oh wait, I have a great idea, let's try to recharge the cell phone! After all, it is electric energy…

Right, who am I kidding? Flux doesn't make any electrical current.

I go to my desk and see the letter thrown around. Oh yeah, stupid old me, I have a moment to talk with Robin about my culture…

Well, guess I've now solved what I'm going to do for the remainder of the day. Oh yeah, she never told me what hour it was. Let's go to the library then. And also bring with me my little bag (Backpack) with books and clothing. I guess she will be interested in these things.

* * *

The library is just like the first time I met Reflet, with the sole difference being there are people in it now. At least they don't care if you invade their 'private' area. They ignore you like any other person in the room. Unless you make a noise, in which case may your soul rest in peace, librarians aren't a merciful kind. We are all here for books after all, and speaking with someone would be a massive waste of breath, time, and peace anyway.

Now I have one tiny problem with where the problem-child (sorry, the bringer of doom known as 'the Vessel') decided to be. There is nothing in the letter stating the meeting point, besides the general location of it. Since I don't have anything to do, and I would rather be somewhere far, far away from anyone in this place, I go to a place further away.

My walk led to a part of the library where the bookshelves end on a wall and the only thing left there is a stand and a spider's web gently touching the furniture and the ceiling at the same time. I don't see any spiders, though.

A lonely place for myself anywhere is bliss, so I sit on the cold floor and pick up one of my books and start reading to pass the time: " _Ao Verme que primeiro roeu as frias carnes do meu cadáver dedico como saudosas lembranças estas Memórias Póstumas/ To the Maggot who first gnashed the cold meat of my corpse I dedicate as nostalgic memories these Posthumous Memoirs."_

What a graceful line! Just as good as the first time I read it last year. The narrator who doesn't care about the reader at all, the irony dripping at the footnote of each page like the ex-slave beating another slave, the chapters who break molds of what chapters should be like, the one about how he didn't become the minister of state and many others. Such good memories for such a pessimistic book, a form of getting back home like no other…

Well, the awful reality of XIXth imperial Brazil, with slavery and nobility… is it really the home that you grew up in? A place with a lot of misery and social divide?

I shook my head. I don't need any of these memories. I can't afford them for now.

"Hey, where were you this whole time? I was searching through this whole library until I found you here in the farthest end of a place where nobody has appeared in a whole decade." With the bravado of an annoyed person who was stuck in the longest waiting line of the world thus spoke Robin… Reflet.

"I didn't find you anywhere, and your invitation didn't tell us where we should have met instead." I look at the person staring down at me and then return to my book

"Don't do that! Besides, you should have stayed at the gates. Aren't you capable of waiting?" She tries to stare at me, I avert her gaze. I shouldn't enter a staring competition with her.

"There wasn't anything in the invitation telling me to do that."

"Huh.. huh.. you got a point" She stops staring and being angry at me, looking at the ground in shame, an awkward atmosphere taking hold for a minute that felt like an hour of silence between us.

"So, where did you plan this whole meeting to be…?" I break the silence with my undecided-sounding voice, the lingering question traveling through the air

"Well, since you asked… just wait a bit, alright?" She looks to the side, rolling her eyes, a little bit of sweat falling down her face as if she was found murdering someone and is trying to get away to end this whole mess and find the answer to the one million dollar question.

"Ok..." what are you planning, lady?

"Sorry,'" She waves her hand and trails from under her palm, then my mind snaps into darkness immediately.

Why have I put my faith in the vessel controlled by Validar of all people?

* * *

The soft texture hugs me like a kind mother to her children. A little warm to the touch, the saliva almost getting out of the mouth but stopped by the mixture of sleep and wakefulness, little forms indistinguishable from one another forming in the space leading to nowhere but the blankness of a dreamless nap.

The room burned red in its contents, a carmine colored mist covered the room, little spark coming out of nowhere igniting the air, despite having no near-visible fire source. A blood-red scarlet tapestry adorns the walls at all sides with a geometrical composition of hexagons and religious phrasing ("May the world be blessed with a new end"). Torches strategically placed to lighten the place surrounded me. The desk is carved with some triangular runes and the mark of Grima, a few books there and on the side, my bag touching it.

"Where am I?" I ask, my voice coming out a little off, my world trailing of just like of a drunk

"You are in a special place: the guest room!" Robin giggles, the feeling she had practiced hours to say this one line not lost to me

"Whose?" A little drowsiness still dominates my voice.

"The Fells'!"

"The Fells'… I see. Where is it?" Any intel is good to know, even if you are speaking with the daughter of the guy who wants to end the world.

"Secret." All the happiness radiating from her shuts down and a serious tone overtakes. Ok, let's tread carefully.

Life is one of the "greatest" things of all time: sometimes it leads you to a battle, others to being the special guest of the sect that wants to destroy the world. Well, at least they have some nice tapestry here.

I lift myself and do some stretches. I feel a little bit of soreness, but nothing alarming

"Ok, did you pick up anything inside the bag?" I return to the fluffiness of the pillow

"Of course not, you don't pick up the stuff of your guest after all!" She states with indignation, a pout coming to her face.

"Good" I whisper to myself. Thank God she decided not to pick up anything of mine. I shiver at the thought of explaining the glass and metal box called cellphone

"So, before we can start anything, what does ok mean?" Doubt comes from her face, a curiosity brimming inside her eyes.

"Well...ok, how can I phrase this?" I try my best, but it slips before I even notice.

"You did it again!" She laughs a little bit at my stupid answer.

"Ok," I had this wonderful idea.

"Are you going to just keep saying 'ok'?" The pout returns and turns into an annoyed look. She would rather do something else rather than question the meaning of the foregoing word

"Yes," I smile just a bit. She may be the Vessel, but at the moment it doesn't seem she is going to kill me.

"I think I've got the meaning down," She says pensive, one of her hands touching her chin like the Thinker.

"Ok, so what do you want to do?" After all, I doubt she would go to this place without thinking about anything beforehand.

"Well, maybe we could share a little bit of literature. I have brought the books I like the most. And you?" She didn't think this

"Hmmm…well, the books are in the bag, just let me get up," I detach myself from the blissful heaven of these pillows to grab my backpack.

"One question?" A little doubt creeping into my mind if I should ask the question or not

"Yes?"

"How did you bring me here?"

"Once you'd fallen asleep, I picked up your body and took you here. You are very light."

Another note is taken: I will not win in a fistfight against her. Or anyone else here, for that matter.

"Noted" I pick up the bag, open it, pick up some of the books, and put them on the table.

"Wait, where is Brás Cubas?" Panics comes to me, my voice rasping. Please don't tell me I have lost my book, please.

"You mean the book with a picture on the cover?" She shows me my little precious book with the Blue and black letters, and on the cover, it says the name of the author and the title of the book respectively. Also, there is a painting of two victorian men staring at each other.

"Yes, that one" Peace returns to my mind. I feel so relieved I even pant for a bit there.

"So the name of the book is Brás Cubas. Never thought the letters of your people would be so blocky." She utters with an air of curiosity as to why such weird markings.

"They are the letters of the Latin alphabet." She doesn't know Latin. I wonder how I will explain to her the name of the alphabet without saying about the Roman Empire.

"Hmmm, can you teach me?" Her eyes glimmer at me, waiting for the obvious answer.

"I can, but let's start this already," I don't think we can waste our entire time on nothing.

"Ok, I have decided what part of my literature to talk about, but I think it can wait for a moment. So tell me what this Brahs Kubbas is all about."

Reflet and I sit side by side to see the book.

"Well, first of all, you see the blue letters?" I point to the name.

"Yes?"

"This is the name of the author: Machado de Assis. And the title under is the full name of the book: Memórias Póstumas de Brás Cubas."

"Maxhado de Aziz," She tries to say the name but fails. Still, I think it's not bad for someone who has never heard Portuguese once in her entire life, "Can you translate the title?"

"It means… post... death memoir.. of Bras Cubás" I stumble a little bit, forgetting the corresponding word for the title.

"Post-death? How can someone publish something after death?" Doubt creeps in her mind for the curious name of the title

"Well, the character is dead, but he decides to tell his life to everyone," I give her, her face becoming stiff as her mind tries to process this paradoxical information.

"But he is already dead!" She explodes once she understands the meaning, confusion coming to her face as she ponders the consequences of such an action.

"But this is literature, not reality. Do you want me to tell you of the book or not?"

"Fine, you win this one. Tell me about this book," she crosses her arms.

"It talks about the life of the titular Character Brás Cubas and his critics about the society of the time. It's great, but I doubt you would understand it."

"Then read me a snippet of the book aloud!" Daring today, huh? Let's see if you understand it.

I blaze through the pages and find a snippet I love very much "Here. Uhm...capítulo XLII:

* * *

... _Como que este capítulo escapou a Aristóteles?/How did this chapter escaped from Aristotle?_ " A lovely chapter with a lovely end, Still how it escaped Machado de Assis this reading?

"I didn't mean literally, you doofus." She doesn't look as annoyed as I thought. Probably interested in the sound of my language.

"I did what you asked though."

"Huh… you got a point. But your language sounded so... so soft. It isn't as poetic as Plegian, but it felt as soft as this pillow..."

The other Bilac would probably be very pissed about hearing this, but dead poets can't smack people for not saying their language is poetic enough. Sorry, Olavo, nothing personal, but there is no _A Útima Flor do Lácio/ The Last Flower of the Latium_ here.

"Besides this one, do you have any other?"

"I have some, just let me pick them up from the bag."

I put it above the table, the grey modern design of the backpack sticking like a sore thumb against the decade of the shades of dark red of this part of the world. I open the contents of the bag to the world and let the burned atmosphere soak the inner contents.

"I've noticed you aren't really of this world."

Oh no...

"Hmm?" I try to ignore the question as if nothing had happened at all.

"You said once before that you are a foreigner from another part of the world. I already know that. But looking at your stuff makes me wonder, are you even from any part of here?"

"Well, I would love to tell you, but I don't think my answer would be satisfactory." Damage control is not very effective when the whole building is already burning down.

"So pompous. Spill it out! Are you from this world or not!?" She grabs my robes and stares down at me like a predator. Please stop staring at me.

"Well, well, do you believe me to be in your world?" With all the calmness I have left, I try not to break my indifferent face

"Why do you avoid such questions? It's an easy 'yes or no'!" _Eu tô muito ferrado/ I am so screwed_.

"I am not from Ylisse, as I said before, but from another continent entirely," Please another matter, please.

"What is the name of the continent?" Your Hellish Thing, please stop!

"America" Seu idiota!/ You idiot!

"Never heard of America."

"Well, you see this in a place far away from here."

"Where!?"

"Secret." Two of us can play the same game

"Spill out, please" I will stand at my ground.

"Another time..." I stand against her glare.

"please"

"no"

"Don't tell me then"

"I will not share like it or not"

"HUh" Giving me another pout seeing my rather state of non-collaboration, she stops groping my robes and directs her attention to something else.

"Let's talk about some Plegian literature, shall we?" She looks at her pile, untouched by the two of us. A little tug comes to my heart.

"I don't see why not."

She picks up a book with a green cover and the title printed on a gold line with a small illustration of an island.

"Good. First off, here is the book is known as 'The Journey of The Scorpion and The Peacock'. It's a story about an assassin and sailor, stuck in two boats going on an adventure in the middle of the sea. I just love how they describe the little island they visit, the green of nature..."

Her excitement is tangible. She speaks every single word with a spike, doing little ups and downs, sometimes the words mix with each into one long word. I can barely filter what she is properly saying.

"Have you ever seen that?" She turns to see my reaction.

"Everyday," a little tear flowing down from my eyes. The place where I lived wasn't very green. It was more grey despite the beaches, but to me, they were as vibrant as the one in the amazon rainforest, filling in the sun and wasting my time reading or with the piano…

Qunato saudades tenho daquele lugar/ How much nostalgia I have from that place.

She pats my head "Don't be so sad."

"Sorry, I couldn't hold myself," I pass my hands through my face and rub it, "You see? Just fine." and I let her hand return to the Plegian book.

"So tell me, is the world this green outside of Plegia?" There is nothing playful about her voice, just a dumb simple question.

"Yeah, it is. Didn't your father travel with you to other places?" A rhetorical question, I know very well what the answer will be.

"Not really. I was born somewhere north from here." She gives me her life, barely any emotion on her face.

"So this is your first time being to another place?" A dumb question, I know.

"That is a secret," She tries to avoid my face.

"Hmm," I would rather not to pry on other people's lives very much.

"Also, can you teach me your alphabet?" Of course, she breaks the rather downtrodden atmosphere.

"I don't see why not. Do you have any piece of paper?" I would have something like that.

"Hold on for a moment" She gives me a random piece of paper with nothing scribbled. I pick up the ink pen and start writing the shapes of the Latin alphabet (cursive, of course) and write the 26 letters and make their sounds to Robin, the diacritic the infamous "ão" and the c cedilla.

"Here are the letters. We write them left from right, rather right from left."

"Show me then."

I write my name down. Let's see how well she does.

"Here is my name." I wrote the old curves down so many times, it became a second memory to me, with a rather simple rhythm of ones and twos, keeping the forms somewhat readable, "Gabriel."

" Ghabrrrirr...I think I've got this somewhat correct."

Nope. Way too guttural to be Portuguese.

"Not even in the slightest" I keep looking indifferent.

She becomes puzzled, "Huh, but I've read just what you wrote down."

"Remember, I am not the only one with an accent in the world. Just try to mimic the sounds I make with my mouth. One, two...Gabriel."

"GrabriEER"

"Close enough, I guess. You don't even know a single word of português, though"

"So that was the name of your language."

Why my mind let slip words that backfire at me

"So teach me a little about your language. As much as I love plegian, I am rather interested in another language. Dad never let me do that, but I don't think he will care about this one."

"Ok, let's start with some of the basics…"

* * *

" I never thought it would be so hard! Reading the ancient texts is a breeze compared to this mess..."

"Why do verbs go in the middle? Why not at the beginning like a normal language? Why aren't there isn't gender for verbs? Why do the words not follow any logic? And whatever hell is up with those two verbs 'ser' and 'estar'?"

''Congratulations! Welcome to learning a new language!" I reply to her little rant.

"Why is it so hard?!"

"You never even heard a single sentence in Português before. Why would you think you would get in only a few sentences, and some words?"

"I am the vessel of Grima! Of course, I am capable of doing everything right!"

"Still doesn't mean anything to mean. You will get better in due time, though. And even then, for a complete beginner, you are pretty-"

"Reflet, where are you?" A female voice resonated through the farthest side of the room. that was a nice afternoon but now someone has appeared, and prepare yourself Gabriel this will be a mess. Robin's mouth falls flat to the ground as her "careful plan" fails at her very own eyes, some will appear and I doubt They will not care about me and probably send me to the real dungeon. As I can't quite get out of this place in time to not being, I fall down to the ground and try to hide behind the desk

"Where were you? What were you doing, little lady?" The tall lady asked while looking down at us.

"Well sis, we... I mean, I was reading some books?"

Oh Robin, why!?

"Why, then, in the guest room? Besides, I can see the little rascal behind you." She is glaring at me, Help!

"What little rascal? It was only me this whole time!" She ignores what the woman said before. Reflet, please, this won't work!

"Humm, it seems you invited the little rascal who decided to approach you while millions lamented the death of your savior, You are way too easy to read." Robin finally dawns and enters into a panic until a good answer comes to her head.

"Well, what if I told you I invited him?" Why did you have to do that!?

"Why did you invite him here?" She inquires, then confidence comes to Reflet and,

almost like a rocket, she responds.

"He was more interesting than everyone in that whole room."

The person counter-attacks with an obvious question, "What makes him so interesting?"

"A good question…" Reflet trails off. You are not doing yourself a great favor by asking this, Robin. I decide to take action in the middle of this circumstance.

I lift myself and, ignoring her petrifying gaze, I give my answer "Before anything, she led me here and started the conversation both times."

She prepares her hands and a little spark of magic comes out to form strands of electricity, I don't flinch, despite going a little bit far away from her "Shut up! You must not shut the holy vessel-"

Loud Growl thunders across the air, "Calm down SIS! He is only here because of me. Don't be rude to him! He didn't even mock me once! Please be kind, Gabriel here is a guest, and you don't curse your guests 'Versa."

She glares at her and stops forming the electricity, a mildly annoyed look on her face, "I will do as you wish."

A tense atmosphere travels through the burned down the air of the place, one of the lights burning out, leaving me and Aversa to stare at each other.

"Good, you will be great friends! So, here. Gabriel, Aversa. Aversa, Gabriel." She keeps a cheerful façade, in an attempt to stop Aversa from killing me and genuine happiness stemming from both of your meetings as she breaks the awkwardness of this sudden meeting.

"Nice to meet you" She keeps glaring at me, her voice having the roughness of a bad-shaped rock. Not subtle at all.

"Nice to meet you," I fidget my fingers trying to disperse all the energy while looking away from her.

"See? It wasn't so hard!" Robin I don't think this is how starting a friendship works! A bashful smile ignoring all the context comes to her

"So, why were you here, Gabriel?" Why does everyone associated with Fells try to discover why I am here?

"Well, I am Tharja's assistant." Aversa looks at me funny, he hand raise again to prepare an attack

"Tharja? The Fatimid one?" The question in the form of an ultimatum is sent if I am loyal to one of her allies. One wrong answer and I can consider myself a dead man, answering no will probably lead me to death, and yes also will lead me to death, for thinking I am lying. Damn if you will damn if you don't

"Yes."

"I never thought Ibrahim of all people would allow foreigners to be around one of his daughters. What did he see in you to let you work for her?" She keeps her hand raised, readying herself for an attack at any moment, a growl sculpted to her face.

"Ma'am, I don't know. Don't ask. I was living with them, being their servant, and one day I became her retainer," I only state the facts, this war not being won by hidden intentions.

"What a curious story." Purple lightning starts to come out of hearing, spreading through the air like spiderwebs being interwoven, only now I notice the tome in her other hand, I guess death always finds a way to kill me.

Robin intervenes by grabbing Aversa's hand to stop the attack from happening, the electricity fizzling out of existence. With the cracking sound of almost broken bones spreading through the air, a perplexed look comes from Aversa. Reflet gives her a chilling glare, any trace of happiness replaced by the frozen of death announcing Aversa's sentence. The vessel is ready to kill.

A gasp comes to Aversa's face, horrified eyes pleading her to stop. Instead of stopping she increases the chokehold, a bright red color appears in the dark pale grey skin of Aversa. Reflet gives me her hand, therefore giving me a turn… I guess. Robin stops the choking, as Aversa puts down her hand, holding with another as agony comes to her face. A false smile comes to her as she tries not to frown at me and her ached hand. The vessel brims another jovial smile as if nothing happened. I flinch at that smile and sound

"And Miss, why are you here in the first place?" I try to not cringe at her pain, but any intel is valuable, so let's see what Aversas has to say abo.

"You see, Validar is like a father to me. He took me in when my village was destroyed by that Barbarous Ylissean. Saved me. Gave me a new home where I could live a new life. And for that, I am very thankful." She sincerely says, her eyes are blissful ignorance about talking about Validar, to the point of forgetting the status of her twisted hand.

"Hmmm, I see. Understandable," Is that reality or not? I would love to tell her it was a well-constructed lie, but at this point, it very well might be the truth. As some might say, forget and let live for today…

"Hope you at least have a nice life with him." I hope this will diffuse the situation somewhat, giving a small smile.

"Of course I have a nice life. He brought me to the one true path towards salvation," Aversa states, annoyed for even daring to say I hoped.

"Don't be so hyperbolic 'Versa, He's our dad, but I don't think he would like us to be so fanatical towards him."

Are you sure about that?

"Well, if that's the case, who am I to judge?" I shrug off as I don't have enough clues to do any kind of research on the topic. After all, I doubt the records will show any of that happening. Only a few small towns are lucky to even be a footnote in a book.

"Sorry, Reflet. As much as I would like to keep talking about my savior, we have some matters of utmost importance to talk about, rather than some random thing you find interesting." Good, rather be some random than someone in the crosshairs of this sect.

"Just one thing, sis. I have to escort him back to the library. So could you please go ahead of me? I promise it won't take that long."

Aversa frowns at the request, but acquiesce for the time being " Then I shall go first. But please, don't bring some random person without asking me beforehand."

"I promise," Robin puts her hand on her chest and the other in the air making her promise while stuffing her chest.

"Good," she gets up and goes to the exit, she is still clutching her hand in pain. And only then I escaped from her grasp. I can't wait to be back in my dungeon.

"Well, Reflet, it was very nice despite this little 'meeting'," I don't even try to hide my 'enthusiasm', I break my stoic face and give her a frown.

"Don't worry about sis. She isn't always so rude. I doubt she likes foreigners though. I will try to change her mind about the subject."

"OK. Anyway, how are we going back?"

She only looks at me in the eyes and says "Sorry".

Oh no.

And my world turns black again. Why did I think it would be any different?

* * *

I wake up on a soft cushion, I can barely see anything, but the mattress carries me to the fluffy clouds of heavens.

I lift part of my body and keep looking around.

Oh, she has put me on my bed in my little dungeon… oh god!

I get up from the bed and go as fast as a torpedo towards the door and lock with all my force. More time of killing and I would be very dead.

A small note lies upon my desk, hastily made with sploshing of tint and with some wrinkles to boot.

" _Sorry for my sudden usage of magic. The conversation with sis could have been a lot better. Also thank you for sharing a little of your culture. As you said your people say, Muito Obrigada._

_Reflet Fell_

Oh, you Reflet. Still, what a day.

Well since the day already ended, let's write for a little bit. What could I write after all?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that was chapter VII for Detachment. Thanks to Cavik and TheBobcat18 for beta reading this chapter. I hope this chapter was better than last and everyone enjoyed, even for a little bit. I am still struggling to see if my fic is any good, but I thank you for the continued support for this fic, also my grammar still sucks. I also participate in a discord server, here is the link: discord.gg/9XG3U7a


	8. VIII- For the Grimleal, a prayer!

I can only sense the world in vertical stripes. The cauldron is at the top, the bed at the bottom, Tharja in the lower end of the strip, and my hand at the central strip. Despite the Escherian perspective, I can distinguish what was in front of me. The stripes don't rob me of the agency of moving my body, but I would be lying if I said during the first ten minutes I could barely move and it would be way easier to understand perspective in Escher's drawing than the striped vision.

The footsteps I made (because of Tharja's body control hex) were wonky in the beginning; left and right mixed together, the top and bottom being the sole difference between them. I made a single step and fell flat on the floor, but after some 20 minutes or so, I could take a single step without falling apart like a house of cards. Still not perfect, but now I don't meet the cold rocks as often as before.

"We are finished for today. Go to rest," Tharja mutters to me, turning off the curse and returning my vision back to normal after a few seconds. It wasn't as harsh as that last time two weeks prior.

"Tharja, could you do something for me?" She faces me with incredulity at the question. Not angry, but just wondering if some spirit has taken hold of my body

"Yes?"

"Can you show me what a messianic prayer is like?"

Tharja looks at me surprised.

"You of all people? Why?" Tharja asks with a dumbfounded face and a questioning tone. I put my finger on my chin.

Why do I want to go to a Grimleal cult? Well, it's easier to not be seen as an outsider if you do what the people here often do. As some might say 'In Rome, do as the Romans do'. I should have listened to this advice before. Also, I heard some rumors that I am an atheist a while back; they are actually true, but I hope they get out of my trail by seeing me doing this.

"why not?"

Tharja scoffs at my answer.

"Well if that is the case, I don't see why you can't. But be careful, we don't like intruders in our nest." Tharja glares at me, as she goes back to her desk. A fair warning I suppose

"Hehehe," Tharja giggled. No doubt, the vessel will appear then. As she laughed at the thought of seeing her 'idol', I got out of her room.

Goddamit, I forgot something. I return to her room.

"Ugh... what is it?" She looks at me annoyed as I break her from her daydreaming fantasy.

"What time is the ritual?" A dumb question, but one I'm willing to take the risk for.

"At sunset. When Grimleal shall return to savor the night of a new twilight. Get out." And she slams the door at me.

Oh well. I look "forward" to this whole ritual. Now is time for searching where it is. Oh well, I could ask Tharja, but I don't think she was so willingly after slamming her door.

* * *

The sunset glares at me with its mournful hues of orange interwoven with a jaded sky who refuses to be dominated by the few strains of a green spreading like veins, consuming but not destroying the sky at its top.

The view is located in one of the many corridors of the palace. There are so many, that it makes for a rather complex labyrinth, under which, to my dismay, I have to live. This part feels more like a balcony rather than a luxurious hallway.

My arms stand on the rail as the light is allowed to enter by the space between the marble and the eyes of Grima decoration surrounding the window. I hope this is the right way. I have lost way too much time trying to find this place, and it seems to be the only one I still haven't visited yet. At least I got a beautiful sunset as a consolation prize.

"Pelo menos alguma coisa boa nisso tudo, né? " I mutter to no one.

I stop gazing at the sunset and return to my incoming destination. The floor is painted purple, black lines converging into one sole direction: a badly-lit space where the light and shadow meet and mix in, while some other hooded people come near inside. I put on my hood in an attempt to conceal my identity. I guess the wish not to be discovered is something even greater than I can control. A tug in my heart tells me not to go, the aura creeping out, I gulp and set in the foot into the shadow.

Upon entering the place of darkness, it reveals a massive inner metal gate beside stairs leading down. A massive head of Grima painted on the top with the mark of Grima above the Fell Dragon. That must be it! The place I am looking for! I should have asked Tharja beforehand, even with her mood. But nobody stops her fantasy of Reflet. Nobody.

Stepping inside the place, my footstep echoed softly, the stalking sound alerting no one and upon entering the place properly. Nobody came to greet me, as there wasn't even a single guard, nor priest-like figure. Only the candles and a small gathering of two hundred people inside a chapel-like place. The ceiling was flat without any painting, beside one massive purple eye with a somewhat weak torch in the middle of it, spreading it through the roof like veins and arteries to a beating heart, the Fell star compassing the whole world to eat as a whole.

Despite some strategic candles, it is barely illuminated, barely allowing me to see what wasn't inside the well-lit area. All followers use a hood, making them indiscernible to the common eye. At least it makes it easier to mix with the crowd and not stand out like a sore thumb. There is no chair or place to sit, only the concrete grey rock serving as any place for sitting, without any tapestry to soften the rigid ground.

The area is as loud as ever, the people talking about the mundane and the indifferent.

"Did you hear about…?''

"Some of those weird dualists have been..."

The crowd crept onto themselves, serving more like a massive wall keeping me from entering, besides just staring at the breathing thing.

Holding my breath, I penetrate and fight my way in until I find one singular empty space between the mountain of people. There I found some places to sit while others were on their feet. Breathing against my sweat, I delight myself to find a place to sit. The cold ground is harsh and I turn my head… only to find Tharja blinking at me, as I keep staring at her.

"Why are you here?" She says in disbelief, still blinking to see if I was an illusion.

"I told you I would be coming here."

She frowns at my answer. Well, it could be worse.

"I didn't think you were serious, ugh… if that is the case, please pay attention and don't embarrass yourself".

"Noted. Is this going to be a normal prayer?" My voice lingers at the overwhelming number of people.

She only glares at me and returns to whatever she was doing before meeting me.

After this, our small talk ends. I look around to observe the architecture around the place, once my greatest past time when I was at church with my mother. Gazing at the monuments, the beaten-down Jesus Christ placed upon the cross and a piece of paper with the prayers, impatiently waiting for time to trickle down.

I chuckle to myself. I was never a man of God. I hated going to church, and heck I preferred one over another because it was more aesthetically pleasing to my eyes. I just find it a little bit funny that my first time going to a religious place out of my own volition is to one belonging to the sect that wants to destroy the world.

In front of us, a big altar with purple cloth stood imponent higher above us, unknown figures covered in shadows calling for us from behind it. A small statue of Grima's head is laid above the upper part, a red liquid dripping from the eyes as if it is crying, staining a small grail as bright as the night. On the side, there is a grey open vase filled with ashes.

Into the wall, the face of ancient heroes lays destroyed, the passage of time chipping away their details. The saffron paintings hiding little cracks seeping into the world as few candles rest at it.

"It will start now, pay attention." As you wish, but also because I want my head to stay where it is right now.

"OK, at what moment?"

"Shhhhhh"

...

Time slowly ticks away, the few seconds passing at a snail's pace to the point of being more of a painting. An agonizing lack of air takes hold of me, little spikes of anxiety surging through my body as I hold against their tide. My belly heats as the cold exterior shocks with me, the unpleasant feeling reverting into my body. The crowd amounting into themselves closes the world surrounding me, as I become part of a massive wall, almost drowning me in the sea of people.

A sudden bang explodes through the air, the talking and muttering ceasing. An imperative silence takes hold as the new king of order into the prayers. All devotees bow their heads down into the hard ground as silent prays were made. I gulp at what came next.

All light is snuffed out, the darkness takes it to hold in the world. I raise my head from the position, watching as almost no sound is made. Little breaths of air surround me, the cold wind singing its little song to the little trespassers.

" _The one brought by the star,"_ A lone voice rose, coming from the altar. I don't let it startle me, and I maintain my posture.

" _By the whims of the lanced sky,_ " A harsh male voice sings, unknowable, coming from all directions of the room at the same time, echoing into the fissures of the walls.

" _By the one which abandoned us,"_ A female intones the lonely line, coming from the top and the bottom at the same time.

" _The cries of unborn children follow us,"_ one sole light blazed through existence on top of us, as the three voices combined into one. The rays are too weak to even make a dent in the all-consuming darkness, the purple eyes staring at me.

" _The sand laid into the shadow,"_ we start to chant at that moment, and we follow like sheep in a flock to its pastor.

" _By we which pray,"_ every word is sacred and has to be spelled out right or else.

" _The bones laying down to mother night,"_ The candle weep, flicking and reemerging in its lamentation.

" _The hunger of the barren land."_ To the desert I survived, and yet, the prayer is harder.

" _The grail we consume."_ I would mingle with the locals, and I would survive.

" _The dust we lay."_ But at what cost?

" _The light in which we devour ourselves."_ Why am I here? No, why should I be here?

" _The piety of the forgotten one,"_ after all, is praying the most natural thing to a human?

" _From the hollow earth to,"_ this didn't feel right, my gut feeling tells me something wrong

" _The unclaimed sky,"_ the sole light in the room ceases to exist, and only our sounds exist in the vacuum.

" _We lay bare to our crying."_ something isn't right.

" _To the rebirth,"_ I get a shiver down my spine. An unbroken gaze makes me it's focus.

" _To death,"_ no, no, no.

" _To the broken sun,"_ Why did I have this idea, why!?

" _To the created moon,"_ I shouldn't be here, the cold sweat outpouring from me.

" _AGrima."_ I don't belong here.

The voices fade, and silence reigns. No one moves, and nothing changes. Only a static picture of contorted statues as my body begs to get out of there. I keep looking around, only the wind greeting me, little movements being caught in the air passing through without any interference, every single person falling down to the ground. I follow suit. I will survive this. I will survive this. It wasn't the first time I almost died, I will be just fine. I will just be another face in the crowd, and everything would be fine! This is only a church, there is nothing special about it!

My head touches the ground and I press it hard, the little rocks caressing my forehead, my eyes closed. A small chant emerges in front of us, indecipherable. Their guttural sound echoes through the room.

"Arise!" The people stand up as I keep my head down trying to avoid any eye contact in the moment of the "waking up". The room is slow at relighting itself, the purple light blinding us, only to return to a reasonable one. Nobody flinches as they stare at the altar.

" _Out of Blood, we come,"_ All chant in unison, without any order, chilling my spine.

" _The steps towards the Cycle,"_ The little word is being accented at the right times.

" _Will be broken through,"_ I contain my breath as my mouth shut itself.

" _The cinders and ash of the Old World,"_ I can utter no sound, only stare at the altar

" _Will coat the newborn and the land,"_ what can I do?

" _The creation of new by the old"_

" _The revelation to all see"_

" _And unveiled the truth to be sought!"_

" _The Purification Shall begin!"_ Only expect the worst.

The altar reveals its shadow contents to the world to see, a hooded figure with purple robes, a figure of a dragon with a human head etched inside standing in front of the altar with the other two other tall figures on the back of it. They stood like statues, watching our every movement.

A line is made, people organizing themselves to go to the altar, a little stair leading the people to stare at the table and access its content, a spiral form as the clash of drums plays in the background and the mantra is shouted. " _AGrima, AGrima, AGrima, AGrima"_

I stood before Tharja, waiting my time to come to this singular furniture of fanatic devotion, the liquid and ashes staying untouchable until now, the ceremony starting as a gulped sound resonated through the room.

Tharja takes a glance at me and whispers "Do you at least know this ritual?"

"No"

"Huh, just copy what I do." Tharja grunts at my response, annoyed in her eyes, as she returns to watch the altar with bright eyes.

"Noted."

The line little by a little shrink, the members who already did their part of this ritual going back to their place, bowing and returning to silent prayers. At every single successful exit, my heart palpitated in agony, dreading what would come next. Anxiety controls me like a puppet to strings, as I keep tapping against my leg, waiting for the worst of all crimes: the wait until the final verdict comes.

Tharja stands in front of me. Unfortunately, I'm incapable of seeing her movement, the robes hiding what she was doing with her hands or head.

The only sure thing is the phrase she muttered at the beginning of the ritual and at the end "Ashes to blood, blood to ashes" and the strong audible swig of the 'wine'. Tharja got out and returned to her place, her eyes brimming with the warmness of the stars, and her hands pointing me towards the staircase.

Every single step made, a startling noise shooks with the air. My shoes stepping in the marble of the stair, a careful gaze looking down at me. The seconds became hours with the pronouncement of the silent wistful cries and expectation of failure pouring through the air.

"Welcome, children of the fallen moon," the harsh voice greets me.

"Ashes to blood, blood to ashes."

He shows the altar like a merchant would his merchandise, the tablecloth soggy with the splashes, and liquid coming from the material inside of it, tainting my clothes.

Where do I start, the wine or the dust on the other side of the bowl? Choose Goddamnit, dust, or wine? Wine or dust?

I pick up a little bit of the dust and spread it through my face, forming the mark of Grima, the two sides of the symbol connecting at the bottom of my nose. None of the three people gazes at me. Phew.

Without a single clue of where to go next, I submerge my fingers into the red liquid.

The drowned ashes mix with the 'wine', turning black as my robes. The substance doesn't feel right, it sticks like a goo, rather than a drinkable liquid of any kind. I spread the liquid through the mark I'd spread, the black suddenly turning into bright red, illuminating my hand while I spread through it. At that sudden moment, one of the figures keeps gazing at me, as I kiss the liquid but fail to gobble it up.

It tastes as bitter as sewer water. I want to spit it out and drink actual water to eliminate the foul thing out of my system. I hold against that wish, hold the substance from getting out of my mouth and I go back to my place. My head is sunken as I try to avoid everyone and not cough the revolting fluid, not knowing if I made a mistake or not.

"No comment," I comment while looking back at Tharja

The black fluid drips from my mouth. Tharja looks at me with confusion while I brush it with my hand.

"Why did you put the ashes on your face?" Oh great, just what I need to hear.

"Oh." Why do I keep failing at all things?

"Humph, you are completely clueless." Ora! Ora! Temos um Xeroque Rolmes aqui!

"Thanks," and I go back to staring at the same cramped and rotten altar.

After a while of nauseating wait, where it makes even the most patient of men crumble, one of the figures speaks.

"All arise and listen to the Great Priest," _Aversa_ announces to the public.

Oh no, she must have seen me! But why is she isn't looking at anyone?

The hood reveals Validar's pointed face, a look of indifference to every one of us, just mere ants to his projects. Aversa recedes to the background as the man became the new prophet.

"Followers of the Fell Dragon, the ones who weren't corrupted by the forces against us, the ones who hold the teaching of the great Validae the correct way. One step closer we are to the Fell Dragon's ever closer return to its rightful place in the world! To take revenge against those who defied and defiled his name!"

"The sacrifice of the many will be necessary, but everything is close as the prophet has said, destiny ever closer to being fulfilled! With the end ever closer, the damnable Naga will pay for what she has done to us as the _rightful_ destiny says!"

Validar left as the altar stood empty, and candles wrapped nobody, one sole figure left to be seen. The crowd exploded in celebrations as their foot taps in sole rhythm and hymns were sung:

" _Oh, Breaker of Cycles, the new bearer of the new reality,"_

" _Shall bring us to ever-watchful end and peace, through the steel, and Faith."_

" _Shall leads Through the land and water,"_

" _Through the sun and the moon"_

" _Through ashes and blood."_

" _AGrima"_

No, goddammit! It's close, isn't it? But, if they are this close, what could possibly stop them from doing so? Why do I keep having to wrap my head around lunatics? How hellish!

All listen and attend to the reveal of Validar, their chanting congratulations for the next step towards the damnation of the world. I give a false smile, as I try not to be seen, Tharja giving a graceful frown to his words, the sound of disapproval tasteful as ever.

The only one left goes towards the altar. Validar bowing as they enter the spotlight. Making a sign to stop the commotion as they went back to silence as eternal as the manifestation of evil. They take their hood off, revealing Robin's white hair. There is not a single smile or any type of emotion on her face, just the cold petrifying gaze of the Vessel.

"The world I gaze at is one of despair. The woes of the punished children of Grima being forgotten and ignored, left to pay for the unjust prices of the Creatures that betrayed us. The ones who betrayed the Grimleals will pay the due price for such unjust suffering."

"In my veins and body, I can sense the ever closer return coming to fruition. Every single day a part of Retungin is meant to be. Me, the sole Vessel, shall receive the power! We are only creatures meant to be returned. Our holy duty is coming near every day. Soon the world will be engulfed by the Righteous Path, the old world will crumble and rot away. As Grima and I are one sole being, I can sense the destiny coming to me to your glorious future!"

Oh no, why this? With the Vessel being a willing participant in the bloodshed to come, there is no simple solution to this! Why, why, why!?

Robin smiles in my general direction. Despite that, her eyes don't look at me, but rather something far away. On my side, Tharja's smiling ear to ear, almost giggling at seeing her idol from so far. I'm in the land of the fanatical and I don't know what the hell to do.

Keep praying. Nobody will notice you if you are a nobody praying away right? Right!?

The lighted room goes back to the darkness inherent for this place, where the fanatical emerged and prayed in peace, waiting for the next movement to dethrone the world from Naga.

" _The one brought by the star,"_ The reprises come, shaking anyone from their doubts.

" _By the whims of the lanced sky_ ", I can sense the salient gaze of being watched even more.

" _By the one which abandoned us,"_ Why does it keep looking at me?

" _The cries of unborn children follow us,"_ my hand taps against my body as I try not to twitch for every single movement within the blindness brought by the all-encompassing void covering me.

" _The sand laid into the shadow,"_ _**Why so afraid? There is nothing to fear but yourself.**_

" _By we which pray,"_ I'm going mad! That is the only reason, the voice was inside my head! No one was sending a message at that moment!

" _The bones laying down to mother night,"_ I could feel little pricks in my body. I can only stand as the perforating sensation took its hold.

" _The hunger of the barren land."_ Please, tell me I'm not going mad! That it's only a trick of my head!

" _The grail we consume."_ I don't even know what's happening anymore.

" _The dust we lay.''_ my teeth crack against each other to survive the immense cold surrounding me. Why is it so cold!?

" _The light in which we devour ourselves."_ The chant so weak starts playing again, not a sole voice dominating the others.

" _The piety of the forgotten one,"_ little by little the voices start fighting against one another, trying to surpass the one another, to be the most praying, the luckiest, the most devoted to Grima.

" _From the hollow earth to,"_ Tharja, in contrast to everyone else, makes a quiet whimper of voluntary submission. There is the only person she cares for and would give her utter devotion.

" _The unclaimed sky."_ The metaphorical gate is open, there is only the cacophony of sounds of the gaze, the unbridled chaos of the orchestra without a maestro, and the atonal screaming of the beast.

" _We lay bare to our crying."_ _ **What have you been doing here foreigner? To apostate or not?**_

" _To the rebirth!"_ _ **I would have never expected you to come here.**_ Stop prying from my head, I didn't ask you to be here!

" _To the Rebirth!"_ The phrase repeats itself like a broken record, as the sounds become the scream of a sole voice. _**So why come here in my dominion? You don't need to be here.**_

" _To the Rebirth!"_ Stop! Get out of my head! My head strains as a powerful headache split my head in two.

" _To the Rebirth!"_ _**Why would you even try to get out of here?**_ The words stabbing me as the sole thing I listen to is 'Rebirth'. The neck strains, the urge to scream comes to me, stabbing me. The world cracks under its own weight!

" _To Rebirth!"_ _ **Gabriel, I see you.**_ _Robin_ says.

I scream at the top of my lungs as the world stops, The strident cries drowning it out.

Sweat is what I taste as I stay immobile. The events that happened are still playing on my mind like a movie. The room is well lit, there is only me through the massive crowd. I keep trembling, trying to process whatever happened. I keep looking at the altar, where Validar and Robin stay on, all the public focused on them, as the most important part of this world, nothing else compares to them.

I keep breathing, trying to survive after such an encounter. How am I still alive? The suffocating air from before is replaced with the brand new feeling of ash of candles. Robin looks directly at me, eye meeting eye. She gives me a cheeky smile while rotating her head like a cat. I just look at her in horror. I can't even maintain my gaze and I look around to stop seeing her at all.

"To the judgment, to the moon, and to the fell star!" Validar utters.

" _AGrima_ '' Everyone says in unison.

I make a small attempt of shouting the word, my voice failing and a massive strain coming out of my body, almost making me fall to the ground. Little by little, the room empties, Validar and Robin nowhere to be seen. Probably returning to their private chambers to rest.

"You look wonderful" Tharja mutters to me, her typical snark coming back to her, thank God!

"I agree," Well if even Tharja is saying so, I wonder what the hell happened to me while whatever the hell was going on in that place happened.

I step out of the room, as the crowd disperses, leaving me ample space to breathe and not die. My every footstep staggers, almost like jelly. At any moment I can crumble away and hit the ground hard. Tharja in front of me as I keep my hand on the wall to not wobble away to the floor. What a pain in the butt.

Left and right mixing together to me, every single step an enormous sacrifice to be made, as the energy once residing in my body sucked out by the cursed prayer of the messianic sect. Is suffering this much really worth it? I don't know. I can't see Tharja anymore, she easily outran me, the consequences of being crippled by the lack of energy.

I meet the force with a brick. It is fleshy and veins are going out everywhere.

Oh wait, it is a person. Let's just say sorry and avoid the drama surrounding me.

"Sorry sir," I exclaim. I can only see dark muscles, then I lifted my head. Who could it be? A man with wild hair, a simple beard covering his chin, his pointy chin. Looking indifferent to me as if I am an insect or a rat daring to even walk on his path…

Validar

I keep myself from freaking out like an animal cornered with his predator, my every being saying at me, to get away from the man. I fight my body as it tries to tremble and stop. The thing looks at me unimpressed

"I came here to ask some questions. Are you the man known as Gabriel?"

Uh oh.

"Yes" I keep the stoic face, as I try not to flinch from his voice and what would come next from him, his voice is like a sharp knife stabbing at my wounds.

"Did you keep visiting my daughter?" He didn't raise his voice or sound boastful, it was just a very cold question to me. Well, that's complicated. Mas é claro!

"No." Validar didn't even react. O que você é!?

"Does the name Aversa remind you of anyone?" He stares directly into my eyes, looking down on me, readying himself to stomp or even kill me, one of his hands readying for grabbing me by my throat. Para! Por favor te imploro, não me mata!

"No." I maintain a painful stare. With men like him, I couldn't afford to look away for even a single second, they kill you the moment you step off the line. Droga! Droga! Claro que essa porra de resposta não é suficiente!

"Then, does the Name Reflet bring anything familiar?" They really like to dissect me, don't they!? Should I lie or not? Lie or not! Lie or Not!?

"No," I tell him, trying to maintain my poker face and my utter indifference to him. He only glares at me with, His eyes are empty as the starless night, a dead man upon arrival. I keep my breathing in check as I try not to tremble against the man. Por quê ele me escolheu!? Porquê, Porquê!?

"Sorry for interrupting," He says as cold as the Plegian nights, and indifferent like he would be to ants, and moved along with indifference, his steps going somewhere until I can only see him going into the shadow. What a creep!

I release my breath and fall to the ground. My breathing is the only thing I listen to. There is a lack of air in my lungs, the feeling of oxygen having been long lost for me. I couldn't feel the air passing through me, cold sweat dripping from my face. A strain to my muscles, caused by the ritual and Validar's cold eyes, hurt me as I'm incapable of turning my eyes away from him. I should have been more careful, the next time he would kill me for sure. I lift myself and wobble to my destination.

* * *

I wonder what to make of Henry's didactic work, as the broken ceiling greets me, and the broken floor punches my spine.

"C'mon, Get up! You will become a corpse sooner rather than later if you keep your guts too lazy"

Henry gives me a hand, that creepy smile still on his face. I give my hand to him, and he lifts me without any effort.

"Now let's start again!" Goddamnit, I never thought I would have to do 'Henry's workout program' if it can be called that.

"Let me rest for a bit" I already survived a weird ritual, can you cut me some slack?

"You are being too lazy"

"No, I cannot work anymore" here I go again

"What a shame! You will be gutted on the battlefield. Times are changing and will not be long before rivers turn red." His smile is sunken down as not a single happy word is uttered.

I go back to my training As always I return to the same position as two weeks ago, a punching bag for the mad man. He returns to his tomes and summons again his ruin, the same old attack from the same old book. I get the full blast onto my face, but thank god that they can fraction the attack, the attack came very weakly. Blame my body for being exhausted right now by that weird prayer thing, but as I am tired I decide to stay where I was hit for some minutes

"C'mon, you can do better than being just thrown away corpse" Well I am thrown away corpse right now, so no.

" OK, but it is not me that is paying the price." Henry look at the door, the silhouette of Tharja with his tome ready."

"I can explain!" And here comes the next round of Curses thrown at him.

On the outside, chants are being sung and soldiers indulged in their feasts. Bandits are heard from rumors on the other side of the mountain, the Shepherds and clans ever watchful, but blind to Gangrel's ambition, The drums of war are beating ever louder. And as for the Grimleal, to pray is all they need.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that was the 8th chapter of Detachment. I want to thank Cavik and TheBobcat18 for beta reading this chapter, I also to thank your continued support of this fic, as I always say I don't know how people like my text, but I'm glad nonetheless. I also participate in a discord server, here is the link: discord .gg/9XG3U7a


	9. IX- The road to war

"One hundred coins. Two hundred coins… one thousand coins… two thousand coins. Could be better."

This is today's report. I never thought the city of Granada would be so hard to sell spices. Nobility tends to love them and this forsaken place is on the way to both capitals, but the only person who decided to buy this was the lord of the place. No one else even wanted a single nutmeg!

I overestimated this city. Ugh. Why would I expect a city on the border to have people buying stuff?... it is supposed to be the contrary, isn't it? The entire fair is filled with Artisan and not a sign of competition in sight. Such a lovely state of affairs wasted! It would be so profitable but not in the way I wanted! Right now I could be in a place with more successful endeavors and not wasting my breath right now! What a disappointment!

I start picking up all the merchandise in the crates and return them to my little carriage towards the next location, town, castle, or whatever the tide of money tells me to. After all, the sun is still shining on the soil. I hope I have one more customer today so that it isn't such a waste. If not, bye-bye Granada.

The gentle wind caresses me, the entire fair looking emptier every minute I stand on this land. In the beginning, there wasn't even a crowd of ten people surrounding the artisans. To even have wished to have more people come in is such a foolish wish, that I am lucky the Emir of this place even came here and bought my stuff.

At least staying here is a breeze compared to the deserts deeper into the land of the cultist. Sand can't invade my boot and I don't need to drink water every single little minute. The sad thing is that the place serving as the cultist's capital was way livelier than this backward location could ever be. I got 20 thousand gold in one hour, one sole hour. Truly, a city of dreams!

I respect caravans, they get their stuff together and gain a lot of money by walking on such harsh terrain. I can't fathom someone getting a lot of money by selling stuff to cities in the middle of the desert, but it seems to be as profitable as Patriarch's state back in the splendorous city of Genezia! Not by much, but the profit is still there. Still, I hate having to be submissive to a bunch of militarists who think money doesn't compare to their little dead dragon.

I put the final crate where it needed to be and went back to the track, the little carriage having two horses pulling it, and started my journey to the other side of the border. The terrain wasn't as bad as the big desert inside Plegia's land, I didn't even need to use camels, and any plantations is way better than seeing sand every single moment of the day, even if it is only some bushes.

Still, it can't beat the navy blue sea, the way a ship can hold absurd amounts of items, move way faster than one thousand horses combined, and the sailing winds and the fresh smell of ports always get me. Why did the Patriarch give me the mission to sell the merch on land? I am the man of the sea, not of the land, Naga Dammnit!

"Oh, Enrico, the Dandolos must expand their horizons and move beyond their sea! The profits don't lie and our family can be as rich as the time when Rievernari was the Doge!" I shouldn't have been convinced by such stupid words! I thought I was way smarter than that, but I guess every man can be fooled by the ambitions of stupid Patriarch and stupid young me's naivety!

It has been one year and I can't wait to go back to my ships and get to the Valmese continent. They say the Cho'sinese Kingdom has people willing to pay a lot for the rare stuff. I hope that weird Emperor doesn't destroy the place or invade Genezia while his conquest happens. To bootlick cultists is one thing, but having to suck up to foreigners from another continent is the most supreme humiliation. But with being the crown jewel of maritime commerce such things are bound to happen. At least the Empire doesn't have an advanced navy, or so the rumors say.

I keep looking at the road, people passing by and greeting them with "May Grima and Naga bless you." What a weird land. How people can even worship Grima is beyond me, since because of him they were thrown to war with the neighbor. They can't see it is better to just not worship him, and somehow they equate him with Naga! At least in their whole stupid Ylisseans war, the Plegians didn't bring their destruction to our little island. Anyhow, I can't wait to go back to my land and see more sensible people.

Anyway, let's see if until Themis things look a little bit better. I will see if my father's tale about Ylissean nobles loving Nutmeg is true or a pure invention to make me waste more of my precious time. But If I don't have to talk in Plegian, it's already way better for me, and they say that some people speak the same language as mine. If that is the case, even better, I don't need to be learning another language.

As for Marth's descendants, may Naga bless their souls, for I don't have any more work to do than the typical business with them! Unless some pesky Anna lives there. By Naga's will, how they came from belonging to our little island to covering every single facet of the world is beyond me. But if someone from one of their families is already there, then I will cut my losses. After all, it will be more beneficial in the long run if I deal with that redhead dastard on my equation sooner rather than later.

Two soldiers stand before me before I can enter the yellowish hills and mountains towards Ylisse.

"Wait, merchant!" one of them stops the horses.

"Yes, what is the problem?" How annoying. Hope a bribe can buy my way towards success.

"Sorry, we are soldiers from the Emir, and we brought a message directly from him."

Great, I barely got out of this spot and I got attention from the ruler of this place! What could I have possibly done wrong to have soldiers come to visit this humble merchant?!

"We heard rumors that Ylisse is getting attacked by bandits more and more. So for your actions of humbling giving spice to him, he has implored us to give you some help, and as such we are going to protect you until you finally reach Ylisse. And after that, you will hire a mercenary."

Oh, great! Now I have to contend with two plegians in my carriage made for two people! At least I won't pay anything for their protection, but as much I don't want to hire mercenaries to help me on my journey, I will have to buy the cheapest one. To lose a little bit of money doesn't compare to the trouble of being robbed by bandits or trying to shut these two's mouths. I already had to deal with that problem wandering in the desert, and I would rather not have to deal with this mess again. Why pay money for something that isn't going to happen?

"You can come in. The only problem is one of you two has to stay outside. There isn't any space for three people on this humble carriage of mine." The two guards stare at each other, and then one of them comes at the front and the other at the back. The armor demonstrates they aren't some kind of bandits, thank Naga! The last thing I want is to have my spices stolen or thrown away in some random river.

And so it is for the afternoon. A pleasant stroll to the border of Ylisse. Ylisseans and Plegians speaking with each other like it's the norm rather than the exception. No trouble comes to me. Neither of the guards does anything out of the ordinary at any moment. Just the trotting of the horse passing on the soil. It isn't so bad after all.

Then the mountains come. A strange vulture comes off of the rocky formations, watching us at every single step as the pass becomes narrower by the minute. At every single side, pointy stones stare back at us. Heads of bandits stare down at the humble carriage. Sweat glistens on my face while they just look at us and follow us. Why does bad luck always strike me!?

"Charge!" A scream announces the incoming attack.

Out of the mountains come the bandits, running through the silver as their attack comes. Arrows come out of the sky.

"Ambush!" The soldiers prepare the formation to protect me.

Some of them jump in, invading the small space. The soldier perforates the bandits' throats, blood gushing everywhere and painting a little bit of my face, which I immediately flinch at. I intensify the pace of the horses' trotting. Sweat comes off of them as their breathing becomes as irregular as mine until we find a light at the end of the tunnel and the mountain pass is no more.

I breathe out a gush of air as I realize I survived somehow. I will hire a mercenary, even if it is the cheapest one. I don't care anymore after this. I may love my spice and my coins, but I need to be alive to even be capable of selling them.

"Are you alright, merchant?" The guards ask me, a little bit of worry in their voices, not realizing at this moment their robes soaked in blood shock me as much as the thief attacking my carriage.

"Yes, totally fine!"

They look at each other.

"We are sticking with you until we find a city."

"Of course."

And so we continue your journey towards the fabulous city of Themis. The mountains and hills slowly subsidize, turning into a more greenish pasture with grass and farmlands, with the sun setting and the night approaches. Then we go to the walled city and the two guards say goodbye to me.

"This is Themis, know we aren't going back. Don't forget to hire mercenaries."

You aren't my mother, guards! I know very well and I am going to follow your advice moving forward.

"I will follow that advice. And thank you for your help. I would be dead if I had gone alone. May Naga be with you."

"May Grima and Naga be with you" The two guards get out of my carriage and start trekking back to their land. Going back in the middle of the night while bandits roam isn't the smartest option, but they aren't my problem anymore. I will never get used to these people. Might as well settle down for the day. I go to the town and search for a tavern or something close to that.

I enter the tavern, full of the typical people drinking themselves some ale and beer. The loud conversations flowing through the air and, of course, some mercenaries looking for some pay. I already have meals with me and I prefer to drink wine rather than wheat piss. I look around for someone to hire, my hand already with the coins necessary as I go to where the mercenary reunite.

"How much are you willing to pay, sir?" says one of them. I ignore him as he tries to banter with me to get some more money from me. Being in Genezian Clothes does.

Then I find a tallish red-haired man in his thirties just staring at me, with a sword resting on his shoulder.

"You are looking for a Mercenary?" His accent is striking with some funny intonations.

"Yes, I am willing to pay you some coins."

"How much?"

"Ten coins." Absurdly cheap he will not accept…

"Gregor accepts."

What?

"Well, then you are coming with me."

So his name is Gregor. Good to know, but I never thought that someone would put his own name as the subject.

We get out of the tavern, go to my carriage, and then move outside the walls, but not too far from the perimeter. I will not rent an inn. Too expensive for my taste. I prepare a little camp and make a fire pit and start cooking some food along. Gregor just looks at me.

I guess things will be better for tomorrow. I wasn't able to reverse from this day, what a shame. The forest in the background gives me the creeps already. Thank Naga the mercenary is with me. A little soup of onion is what I make for the night. Nothing good compared to the good Genezia, but it's the best to maintain my pockets full. I offer him some.

"It good, it been a long time since Gregor got some good meal!"

"I never thought someone would be fond of a simple onion soup, but there is a first for anything."

He laughs whole-heartedly at my statement. Wherever he comes from, I guess I will not be in danger.

Once I've eaten the soup, I return to the carriage and prepare to sleep. I pick a small mattress and a blanket for Gregor. I gaze at the cloth panel serving as the ceiling of this carriage. All in all, it could be way worse. I am still getting some profit from all this, and that I can't say about some of my friends. Better to be gaining money in the middle of nowhere than to be drowned in debt in paradise. Whatever it may bring, this place shows some potential. Wherever the tide of coin shows me off, there is only one thing I know for certain. Money must flow.

* * *

"Uthman, It has been a long time since I've last met you!" I look at the man. How long it's been. From heirs to rulers in our own right, the little priest and the little spymaster passing their time in the dunes and culls. How nostalgic.

"I can say the same about you! How has being Emir been treating you?" Despite all this time, it feels like yesterday we were only children. Him being an emir still hasn't registered in my mind. Still jovial as ever, though.

"What can I say? It's been mostly peaceful, besides some troublemakers, of course."

"Of Course! Troublemakers are all just a pain to stop and clean their messes afterward." Especially some rats in the capitals"

"That reminds me, do you have any good liquor?" What would be an old friend's reunion without the taste of alcohol?

"I would be a bad host if I didn't have any!" Both of us laugh. The man hasnìt changed at all for these past 20 years, Thank Grima!

"Let's enter. I wouldn't leave my dearest friends drinking in the middle of the palace." He looks around and guides me to the innermost part of the old Hashemitain Palace. It didn't change one detail from when I last set foot into this palace. The old marble encrusted with silver and stairs leading to infinity, this place really didn't change at all.

"It seems even in bad years your splendor continues as marvelously as before the tragedy." Whoever had forgotten Jibril's brother, the king who took power after The Ylissean had destroyed Plegia, the one who would bring real change to this kingdom! What a shame he didn't live enough to make real change.

"I wouldn't say such high words about this sorry place, my friend."

What a shame for his inferiority complex. Can't he see that he still has political leverage and money?

"Even if it glimpses, your glory stands way higher than the likes of my clan." Who cares about the backward state of my clan, whose poets don't sing of and whose glory is eclipsed by others?

"Such stupids words, you don't need to diminish yourself when enemies run amok everywhere and crawl when they are not asked." He looks around and leads us to a lower part, a secret guest room, where even the most tenacious thief can't penetrate. We sit in a tapestry room, the bottle of liquors and two cups beside, and the letters. He closes the door, making sure we're alone.

"Let us sit. You must no doubt be tired." We sit and get to our affairs.

"Gangrel is moving. My spy in the capital told me that the army is making rather strange moves, recruiting new soldiers every day, drilling from the beginning of the day to the end of the sunset" If that is truly the case that means something foul is happening. Could it be the messianic sect wanting war, even after they lost 20 years ago?

"Jibril, do you have any more details about such a fact?" Such a stupid move could not possibly have gone unnoticed. Or have the Ylisseans grown soft over the years?

"Sadly, Uthman, Gangrel's dealings are as mysterious as they are crazy. The veil of the Messianic sect protects him every moment. Damn Validar and his larvae are a bunch of flies getting back into power! First, it was the announcement of this 'vessel', and now these weird movements... why can't they accept they are wrong and die for once?!"

He and his emotions can be a real problem. Still, it would be foul to let them always get back to power somehow. If we are to win, we have to destroy their capabilities of ever returning.

"Jibril, don't enter such an emotional state. We might fight a new and more unpredictable Helid, but there is always a way to enter the heart of our enemies and eliminate them from the inside and avoid the unnecessary bloodshed of years ago." Validar might be a way more dangerous foe, but even the biggest man can fall.

"Uthman, you continue to be as logical as ever. The Ylissean may have killed my father, but they were doing us a favor by eliminating the sect. How glorious would it have been the reign of my brother and the leadership of the Orthodox for a new future after the war!"

"It would no doubt have been glorious, but look at the other side: you are the leader of the Orthodox! We are the most popular of the three, and most theologians tell our truths." Sometimes he doesn't understand that he has the power. We could even make an uprising, but that would be way too suicidal since we don't have power over the majority of people.

"What does size matter when you have no one close to the powerful grasp of the king! This Gangrel is only a puppet, but a competent puppet at that! If only we had someone close to the Messianic, maybe this brutality could be avoided!" Jibril takes a swig of the alcohol, the anger in his face barely contained as he almost punches the table.

"Jibril, think. There are voices of dissent everywhere, you just need to find them. Do you seriously think that every man and woman under the thumb of the cult is necessarily allied with them? Of course not, we only need to have a perfect agent for the task."

"What would this ideal agent be like then, Uthman?".

"I'm so glad you asked. First of all, he shouldn't have any affiliations with us, and he should be someone already close to any of the cultist clans, someone as low as a servant is already good enough. Also, he should be suspected by all, so that should anything of our plot be discovered, he would be a scapegoat and we would escape unscathed from such a fallout, and any information coming to him is already valuable. The only thing we have to do is to find such a person in the court." It will be hard, but not impossible.

"I will dispatch the order for the spy! You had better be right Uthman. Otherwise, Plegia is doomed."

"Don't worry my dear friend! I have planned everything."

"Everything but a spy. " No need to be so caustic, we are in the same boat after all.

"A man must know the way to improvise and adapt once the situation doesn't go his way. Just like a musician must play the instrument where the notes lead them. Everything will go according to plan."

He scoffs.

"I hope you're right. May Grima listen to our pleas! Speaking of Grima, It seems that it's prayer time right now. Would you like to accompany your old friend into this endeavor?"

"More than anything" We got ourselves out from the incarcerating room to his personal chapel where his solemn prayer began. We bow to the words of Grima etched into the wall.

" _Oh fallen star, the one we hold dear"_

" _Into our life, The sun you gave us"_

" _The nature holding his children"_

" _The force of which binds us"_

" _Our holy guide against the Know"_

" _The eternal journey towards piety"_

" _To The sole one"_

" _To all eternal"_

" _To all-encompassing"_

" _Agrima"_

May Grima lay the strength for us.

* * *

The sky burned to ashes, everything surrounding me catching fire, the flames consuming the flesh of my little brother.

"No, please don't leave me! They already killed Dad, please don't leave me alone!" On his dying breath, he said no words, it smelled like meat. The world is consumed by smoke.

The purple mark in the ceiling says good morning to me. Tsk, I had this dream again. The times of being a street urchin and robbing anything to just eat weren't fun at all, so why do they keep reoccurring? Oh yeah, of course, how could I forget. People don't forget the damage done to them.

I get up from my bed. My bed. Huh, how funny! Going from orphan street robber to the king of this kingdom. Going from sleeping on the coarse sand to the finest silk in the entire kingdom! Whoever thought, Gangrel the thief of breadcrumbs, the one who ate ash to survive, would become the king who eats every day the food that not even my brother could even dream! But this isn't the reason I am here, nor why I keep dreaming about the past.

A knock on my door. Assholes, they are interrupting my daydreaming!

I slam the door open. A man that looks no more than his thirties looks from the other side, terrified.

"Sorry, Holy King. I came here to announce that your meal is ready."

Of course, I have my meal to eat at the so-called banquet, why do I feel like I am forgetting something?

"Consider yourself dismissed!"

I wonder what will be for today? Something tasty or even good, or is it all just appearances? I go toward the dining hall, any single drop of energy is already going to be useful. What greets me on the other side are my minister and the meal already being served in front of me.

I ignore them, as usual, and sit on the chair. In front of me, there are the whitest of bread with the most fermented of yogurt and the most varied chops of lamb! Truly, a meal fitting of a king. Sadly, before I can eat anything, the annoying ministers keep eyeing me, waiting for my words just like dogs waiting for their owner to bark their words. Couldn't they be a little bit less annoying and allow me to have a meal in peace?!

I eat and eat and eat. It is supposed to be more pleasurable than being a random urchin in the middle of the street, but I can't taste the food of the nobles, only the dreams of it, a sickening reminder of what I am supposed to be doing.

I eat the lamb that tastes like rocks, the wine that tastes like sand, and the mud-like yogurt. I still have a goal to accomplish. I finish the meal and ignore the pleas of the ministers. They can talk to me wherever they want, but before that can happen I have something way more important than the matter of greedy merchants and holy words of insufferable fools I listen to every day. I call it the most important one.

"Mustafa," He looks at me directly in the eyes, a little bit hesitant about what comes next.

"Yes, my king."

"Come with me. You and I have some important matters to discuss, right now!"

"Yes, my king."

What a good dog.

I get out of the snobbish showing room and leave the others hanging. They can do whatever they want for all I care. The matters are as unimportant as how the baker can make a loaf of bread or how a priest can pray for their god. There is always something way more important than their life.

I and the general arrive at my throne, empty with not a single sign of someone in sight or having been there beforehand, thankfully. I would hate for some annoying pest to come here and listen to my business. What I say is secret and only a few are allowed to know.

"What is the report of the army? Have we gained any new recruits? Do they have enough supplies?"

The bald man looks at me with a regretful look in his eyes.

"Sir, after your conscription efforts, the numbers have grown quite high. I estimate we enlist over one hundred new soldiers every day. But despite the increase in our supplies, there aren't enough weapons or food for them."

How dare the army not have enough supplies!

Also, not enough men! The rascal is right in front of me and he doesn't understand what is at play right here. If there aren't enough funds, the minister of finances won't mind in the slightest if I make some changes in the budget.

"Good enough for today, but by tomorrow have at least two hundred men! And I want to check the army now! Bring them to me!"

"Yes sir." and the coward gets out of the room as fast as possible. What a pansy, but at least he is a good general.

What a dull day like many others, with the stupid memorabilia of the messianic sect gazing down at me. They got their little puppet king, and I got the kingdom instead. A fair deal as far I am concerned. They may watch my every step, but they don't know what I think. My mind is exclusive to me, not even the annoying littlest clansmen of theirs can invade it. They don't bow to me, and I don't care, it's easier to control them that way when they don't understand they need me. Both the messianic and every single man of Plegia itself!

A knock comes on the door.

"Come in!"

Through the door comes the man with the golden robes. The minister of finances. How useful.

"Well sir, we have some excellent news-"

"Then what would you be!?" How annoying, I don't care how many coins fall down in his pocket or in the royal chamber, just say that I have enough money to gain back the army. After all, they are the most important aspect of this whole thing.

"Money flows in our land, just this past month we have recorded taxes-"

"Enough is enough, I already got that! Do whatever is necessary, just put more in the army! I think I made this clear enough! Just make this kingdom work!"

The man lowered his face and sank down. How annoying. These merchants believe money turns the world around. "Yes, sir!" and he got out.

Affairs of the kingdom, ugh. How annoying! I have to deal with this every single day. They may call me a puppet, but they take an awful lot of reports to me. I don't care at all either way. In fact, it's better this way. Being the puppet makes things a lot easier, even if it is annoying.

The messianic needed a king for power, something easy to control. They found a man in the street and declared him the king and a "chosen holy one". What a bunch of bullshit. They needed something to be controlled, and they got what they "wanted". That doesn't mean that annoying wench doesn't keep trying to sweet talk me, talking about the naga.

Here comes the standoffish lady with the clothes of a whore. How many times have I told them that I don't want to have a wife? And the message still didn't come across. She walks around trying to seduce me, trying to show off her body. Do they think I would be seduced by sex as a way to buy me off? I already got everything I wanted, this is way more irritating than dealing with the nobles. Couldn't they show up instead?

"Gangrel" She purrs at me, trying to show her bust and blush. How does she think this will work with anyone? Why does she keep trying the same tactics? Does she thinks she will catch me and make me subservient to the priests? Do they not get that I don't care about it at all about having a consort? Anyways I stand unimpressed, I just keeping eyes on her.

"Stop, Just give me the report. Are the bandits doing the jobs as requested?"

She ditches the seductress act and states the report: "The bandits have managed to do some damage around the frontier. The Ylisseans seem to be having some trouble killing them."

What a wonderful report! Just another little step towards the goal! I can taste the end of the Ylisseans, cowering in fear, their houses burning down to ash, entire families being beheaded in front of their children, dying and to never exist again! What a glorious future!

"Keep the good work, expand it more, and pay more bandits! The Ylisseans need to be distracted!"

"Understood. Also, a very important matter. It seems some people don't exactly like you.''

What a "surprise". I knew from the very first moment that I am hated. Why does she keep stating the obvious?

"Be careful, there are still people conspiring to retire you from power."

I'll deal with them just like I deal with the court. They won't be able to organize if I keep the toe in check. The other clans can fight themselves for all I care, but if they try to get me out of power, I shall make that bastard Ylissean king look like a newbie compared to me!

"Noted. Now get out," I state coldly.

"Yes, my king," she says with a poisonous tone before getting out of the room. At least she is a good advisor. Validar is somewhat useful with his grubby fingers everywhere.

Then comes Mustafa out of nowhere "Sorry, sir, but I couldn't bring the army here through the hall. You will have to follow me to the camps to do that."

"Whatever, just do it and show me what they are capable of."

We leave the room and go to the camp in the middle of the sand dunes, the soldier being drilled. The commanders barking at some stupid soldiers slacking off duty and issuing a new command.

"Reunite all! Our King has shown himself!"

All stop from what they are doing and get into a line formation, every one motionless as rock or what looks like.

"You can check them, you will see the most capable men to fighting the enemy." The bald man says.

"Is that really what I will see?" I ask him and go through the soldiers one by one. Some hold fear within their eyes, trying not to cower before me. This won't be enough. They are a bunch of weak-willed men incapable of doing my binding. They are unworthy, but they are going to be good cannon fodder for what comes next.

Some remain indifferent with me, some show respect, and others show their disgust towards me, but they aren't a bunch of pansies. They will be good for when the battle comes, they are at least going to survive until we reach Ylisstol and deal the finishing blow.

The last type is the best one. Their eyes burn with revenge, the same as me. Hidden fury towards the Ylisseans, their instinct telling them to go wild and destroy them. They will truly do my bidding, worth it to both Ylisse and to hell, make them taste what I suffered years ago.

I go back to Mustafa, The feroxi among the plegians, a general capable of crushing them and not allowing the rest to survive.

"Good work Mustafa. Some serious good work right here!"

"Thank you, sir. I thought they wouldn't come off from your mouth." I am very kind to people when they do their work properly but…

"Doesn't mean your work is done. In fact, it is only the beginning. Keep drilling them. What I want to see is their fury."

"Fury for what enemy?" Such a man could easily overthrow me. Sadly or happily he is too gullible to save the kingdom. He is just another kind man.

"You will see."

Then I return to my throne. it feels as empty as ever. Who needs a friend? They are only a hindrance. The shadows are the best, they don't truly tell a man's intention, only hide it from the world. Just another little stupid puppet from Validar, allowing him to do what, please. Lies, a bunch of lies.

Even Validar doesn't know me. He might want to exterminate Ylisse, just like me, but he doesn't know the true reality about his situation and about me. His only protection is the Messianic sect. Take that away from him and you have a man destined to fail. The forms of the throne room shape and contour of the eye of Grima watching me at every step. I don't care either way.

All the Clans, all the people be damned. They will die if they keep my dream from coming true. The Orthodox can dig up their cove for all I care, with the sacredness of the sculpture. The Dualist with their stupid Naga and Grima can sacrifice between their two gods and the Messianic can sacrifice themselves along their imaginary Vessel. All of them can go to hell for all I care.

If Plegia must burn for Ylisse to be destroyed, then so shall be it. If the whole population must die for it, it shall be done. If the entire world must die for this to happen then it will happen! The only thing that matters is their corpses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was chapter 9. I hope this chapter was better than the last one. Special thanks to Cavik for beta reading this chapter, and everyone for reading this fic! Reviews are greatly appreciated.
> 
> I also participate in a discord server. If you want to talk with me and other people, here is the link: https://discord.gg/9XG3U7a


	10. X-culpa

How many times have I already set foot in Henry's room, and how many times did I become the punching bag until Tharja intervened to put another curse on Henry and restart the cycle all over again? I guess I underestimated the power of habit making every single day feel exactly the same.

The cracks and mountains of bodies were once a very scary novelty, but now they're just another part of the day like eating, drinking, and sleeping. His smile isn't as disturbing as before, don't get me wrong, it still belongs to a psychopath that I would rather avoid. But there are so many times until all the creepiness corrodes to meaninglessness by the power of routine. The once alien sitting became part of the usual shift of pain and training.

"Henry, just start it." How long will it be before I can get out of this sparring unscathed?

"As you wish, my dear apprentice! Let's see if your guts have learned something new!" Another sensation of Deja vú appears. I see the same scene unfold the same way. How long will it be until I get my ass kicked? Ten seconds? Twenty seconds? A minute? It doesn't matter, it always amounts to the same.

Henry opens the tried old spell of Ruin, the same old giant X, the same intensity and the same curse. I do what I always do: as the X travels through the air, I dodge as I avoid the boring sentences of a book, a little bit always scraps off out of necessity.

Um, dois, três. Um, dois, três. I open my flux. The exact bygone waltz of flux, how long have I been so stale to the point of relying on the same old attack to try to get a hit on Henry? It's like that one quote "madness is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results" or something along that line.

The same mist surrounds me to create another pointless attack, this time I can't be bothered by the extensive tension made for the body utilizing this single attack. My muscles resist boringly to the magical energy, once very straining for me, but the use became so common that I just ignored it. And the once prevalent stress of imagining attack turned into second nature once I realize I can use the same form again and again.

It grows like a wildfire. The flow of energy sticking to my body, the purple aura interacting with the air to form a ball that I release unto Henry. It moves like a slug on the ground, the white-haired man dodges it like it's nothing and once again casts his Ruin and aims at my head.

I dodge the weakened X, but only by a few millimeters. I start to feel the strain on my body, the difficulty to maintain a decent posture, the heaviness of the tome feeling like more rock than a proper book. My breath swelling and the muscle getting number, the ever-growing wish to collapse to the ground.

I do one last attack, it will not be long before I get hit by one of his attacks just like always after all, but I decide to do something a little bit different. With all my energy left to run towards like a mad man, I'm going to lose it anyway, so why not try something a little bit different.

As I run towards him, I prepare another Flux, it will be in vain. Henry doesn't react, he just casts another of his Ruin. I release the Flux and let the two's collision create an electrifying mist. Henry and I take the opportunity to duke out against each other. My body crumbles to the ground as I try to punch the bastard. My fist misses the target like his. The pricking ground tells me one thing: another defeat.

"I'm pleasantly surprised! I never thought you would be a man to use such a devious method. Still, it isn't enough for maintaining your guts intact. We are going to change your training for a bit with you."

Oh, something to spice things for a bit? Nah, just another way of becoming a punching bag I presume. Tharja stares at him wondering if she should hex him or not. Why is she so protective of me? Oh yeah, how could I forget, there is still a psycho in here.

"So what is your plan?"

"I'm so glad you asked. You are weaker than a lifeless corpse." He starts to touch and palp my muscle, poking, and testing the connections and the tissues behind the skin as if it is a toy. Tharja, could you kindly curse him, please?

"So we have to do something obvious: train your body. Otherwise, you are going to be all bones and no flesh." Oh great, that's all I needed for another session of physical training with Henry. Just like other days before it, why does the day keep repeating?

Henry gets out of his room and makes a signal, pointing his finger to the exit of the decrepit house. Tharja ignores him and lifts me. She is way stronger than she looks. "Could you really curse Henry today?" I whisper to her.

"I already did that, nobody touches my assistant like that."

Just the same day all over again.

We get out of the body-infested room where somehow the white-haired man can live in. Out of his immediate room greets one courtyard. Just as decrepit as its owner, cracks appear in both the floor and the pillars, some deep enough to affect the structure, and others already fallen, the effects of times shown by the inability of holding their own weight. Rust crusts all of the structure, once white turning to a deep shadow of brown while some plants infest inside it.

The courtyard is as deteriorated as the rest, the unkempt place infested with the blood spatters of previous battles and broken rocks. Two rings are imprinted into the floor, one inner and one outer, the only difference between the two their radius and their colors.

The afternoon has already settled in, the sun staring back at us, blaring his rays quietly, just another spectator, and maybe in the future, the only one left alive after this whole ordeal ends. Henry stands in the center of the courtyard, while I and Tharja stay in the outer ring.

"Gabriel, your body just sucks. Dark mages aren't well known for their physical prowess, but if you are in a pinch and the enemy is stronger, then you are _screwed."_ It isn't like you say that for me every single time. Oh wait, you do this all the time.

I glare at him "Just tell me what to do."

"Very simple Gabriel: you just need to punch me in the face once and that will be it for today!" A continuation of fighting training. I guess Henry's didactic work doesn't like to change at all, the same old tactic of returning without regard to a period of rest. After all, who needs rest after intensive training if they are, of course, like my white-headed 'teacher" whose energy seems like that of someone who drinks coffee 24/7 with tons of sugar.

"Que maravilha, era tudo o que eu precisava," I trail off a little bit. Both of them stare at me. Oh great. Why did I just talk out loud and not keep my mouth shut, goddamnit? Sometimes I'm really asking to bring misfortune to myself, unfortunately.

"What did he just blurt out?" Henry asks Tharja, somewhat confused, with a head like that of a dog when they don't understand something.

"Sadly, I have no idea. Although he often talks in his language when he's stressed." Goddamnit, Tharja! Well, Henry, just don't use this information against me, please.

"I see" He smiles again. I am so screwed right now. Thanks, Tharja. I really needed to survive another round of psycho Henry.

Instead of me starting the first move, Henry dashes towards me like a madman, bloodlust in his eyes, readying himself for another kill like a falcon. I dodge from his dash, although he almost grabs my robes in the process. Seeing the opportunity, I flee for a moment trying to see any strategy to not die in the process.

Thankfully he had fully met the wall instead of my fleshy veins. And as such, I expect him to start to limp himself or be like a very angry drunk, staggering at every step to the point its way easier to collapse on the spot. He gets out from the stones, blood on his eyes, and a wish to make me pay for making him hit the wall, despite not having a single dent to his physique.

He pounces on me like a wolf does to its prey to taste and relish on the carcass of the animal dying beside him. But they were uncontrollable, his arm and legs twitching while he became more animal than man, gruffing and whispering not even a single word, there is no longer man, the only creature turned into a beast

I dodge from his pounce, I crumble in the middle of the evading movement, almost like my soul wishes to just falter and slither away. My muscles give up and refuse to listen to my commands as they become harder and harder. My arms fail me, as with every single movement, they creak like rotten wood and fall down at a single touch.

With the energy I have left, I rise up for one last time before the inevitable happens. I can feel my legs collapsing into nothing, even a gentle breeze could make them crumble away like a badly structured house of cards. Henry does one last movement before he starts running like a horse towards me and grabs me by the throat, making me fall down. My last energies leave me with nothing. I couldn't punch for I'm not that strong. It's always the same end, why should I care?

He stops once he realizes he's won. He gets out and returns to his usual smile as if nothing really happened, ignoring the fact he was acting more like a wolf ready to pounce on his prey.

"Well, Gabriel, you did well. I didn't expect your sudden suicidal attack though, but still, in battle, your guts would be on the floor not inside you." If I'm being honest, whatever, I don't really care. I'm just somewhat thankful Henry didn't deal a finishing blow, or worse break my neck.

On the other hand, let's just say Tharja isn't happy at all. She is fuming, preparing to kill Henry with her tome Just the usual cycle. When I'm going to break out of these messes called Plegia and Henry is anyone's guess, but it will be for a long time before the war can even start and all this situation comes crashing down on everyone. The question is, will I be able to survive until it finally comes? I don't know, I may even be dead before this day finishes.

I stand aside with my thoughts for now. With this tired body, I am more like a very easily manipulable mannequin, easily vulnerable to even a stab in the back, and the best I could hope for is the help of someone to carry me until I can stand on my own two feet again.

"Tharja, calm down! I'm not going to kill him, I don't like to make a cadaver out of interesting people."

"One more mistake on your part and consider our deal null."

She then ignores whatever response comes from the gut-obsessive man and lifts my body. How many times has she already said that? This cycle keeps continuing and continuing and continuing. And after all, is said and done, when will it end?

We stay silent after the showdown. I stand at her side, my muscle too strained to even fathom the idea of walking. As she drags me, my head falls down and sweat starts dripping. I wait for my body to surrender to the wish of shutting itself off and falling into its own death at any moment. Just another of my own super melodramatic thoughts, nothing next to people with true suffering. After all my pain, is nothing and never was.

People are still as annoying as ever, though. As we walk, people keep stealing glances at me, for simply being carried by her or being a foreigner with the Dark mage, or both. Either way, If I could simply disappear I would do it. I just don't want attention, it isn't worth the cost and the stress. Also, could they forget about the situation? People keep plotting against me, or they want to kill me for a case that was like 8 months ago. Or maybe 10 months ago. To be honest, I can't be bothered to remember the date, all that fight with Henry left me dizzier than spinning as an untrained ballerina would feel like.

We arrive at the dining hall, as loud as ever and the same boring discussion of who killed who and who betrayed who and whatever stupid conflict between the sects. We find a place far away, so both of us can rest and be ignored by most people.

Just a small table and some chairs on it. She puts my tired frame on one of the chairs while putting my arms on the wooden frame. My mind dozes off from all the stress, the desire to just fall down and sleep dominating me. The difference between left and right is just as confusing as the nature of the Grima-Robin/Reflet personality complex. Also, I want to be in bed right now and just sleep for an entire day.

"Thank you" I keep trailing off, but it doesn't mean I can't thank her. Tharja doesn't respond and brings a flask of vulnerary to me. I hate the bitter liquid, but what else can make me recover faster than this rancid liquor? I barely lift the drink, and the taste of rotten bitterness invades my mouth. As much as I'd want to spill it out and never have to taste it again, I gulp down the medicine.

"Puta que pariu. Que gosto Horroroso! Por que todo hora que bebo esta droga parece que este líquido veio direto do Inferno!? Caramba!"

"What did you say?" Oh great, I slipped off yet again. This is just being another great day already. Hold up a minute, is it afternoon or night already? I don't know anymore.

"I only said some really colorful words to express my utter hatred for this liquid, Tharja."

"Hmmm, if it weren't for this liquid, you would be looking worse than a dead drunk."

"Thanks for the compliment. But anyway, why are we in the dining halls?"

"After that stupid battle, you are probably hungry or something close to it. As for me, after watching the amount of stupidity, Henry made me lose my hunger. Also, there are some other matters concerning him that I have to deal with."

"Another round of curses and hexes, I suppose?" Tharja doesn't respond, just another smile towards the demise of the crow man.

This again, the days are getting more and more predictable. Another round of curses, another failure with the training with Henry, another day of closing the door and not locking the outside, another moment before the tragedy befalls on this land and I'm dragged as a whole to a situation out of my control?

Who am I kidding, I never did have any control over this situation, being dragged by the Fatimids, having that problem with that noble, my weird relationship with the cosmic horror entity called Reflet Fell. Yes, these days are still the same, essentially a big great confusion.

"Well, Tharja as much as you aren't hungry, I am also not in the mood for eating anything. I just want to go to my room, because my day is done"

"Nonsense, you had a battle with that madman, and as good as a vulnerary is for healing injuries, it doesn't eliminate hunger. You know that. And the results tend to get screwed when you are hungry "

"Ok, fine fine."

I pick something random and eat, ignoring the world around me. Another moment of my memory that will join the massive amount of forgotten memories turned into a blur long before the plate is empty, and we walk towards our respective rooms.

"Goodbye Tharja, see you tomorrow."

"Goodbye, Gabriel. Don't forget the experiment is tomorrow."

"I see" She and I go our merry ways.

I open the door and lock it like always, as usual locking it as hard as it can possibly be. Then I feel something staring at me. A gaze, a gaze unlike any other, so directed towards me it feels like a knife. I turn around and see a figure beneath the shadows standing beside my bed. I stare back at the dark image, while it returns the stare… Oh no no no no.

The thing runs on me, faster than a gazelle, and it pounces on me. My body hits the rocky floor, a sharp blunt object towards my back as it starts strangulating me. With the sensation of air being choked out of my lungs, the suffocation begins. His hood falls revealing a man, way bigger than me, covering my entire body, his weight smashing my lithe frame, the air getting stuffy, while my legs shaking every time, the futile attempt to get him out of me.

He is way stronger than me, at every single moment my neck is ready to snap, an almost cracking sound is heard. The teeth grind into dust, my body gets lighter and lighter like a balloon, a wish to escape from this world. I can barely see the eyes of the thing, but underneath the shadow of my room, I could see one thing: hate

With one of my arms free from the man, I ready my thumb, his intention only focused on my soon to be broken neck, ignoring whatever is happening in his surroundings. With a single swift strike, I put the finger into his eye, and start pressuring it, increasing the pressure at that exact moment, the slime touching my finger as blood starts to mix with it, while it goes further and further into his eye socket.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" The inhuman scream covers the room, more akin to an abomination on his dying breath captured by a bear trap, struggling in his futile attempt to escape. His hands drop from my throat as the burning and prickling sensation takes hold of him.

While he is distracted, I kick him with one of my feet, forcing him to the ground. I look around for a weapon **. Sim, a adaga no armário!** I kick him a couple of times on the head, the screaming subsiding into moans, ignoring him while I open the wardrobe to reveal the dagger.

When I pick up the weapon, a sharp pain invades my back, fresh blood pouring out from the slash as the skin burns like gasoline on fire. Then another blunt force strikes me, forcing me to fall to the hard floor again. A cracking and expanding a bruise, the dagger stands beside my eyes and mouth.

"Motherfucker! You little foreigner! You dishonorable man! If it weren't for you, my brother would still be fucking alive! And you took his dagger! _My_ dagger! How dare you destroy my eye, you manlet! You will pay! You will pay for what you've done!"

He started kicking my guts, a wish to vomit my meal out. Quiet moans come from me, while the veins and arteries in my nose rupture by the blunt damage . Eu odeio isso tudo, eu não perguntei pra nada disso, porra!

"Cry like the pathetic dog you are! Die for what you have done! How the Fatimids would allow such a stupid little thing to be here is beyond me, but at least you are going to die as you deserve!" I stop moaning and hold my tears and moans from coming out of me.

"Huh, already dead? Truly pathetic. Fine, at least Abdallah can rest now."

With one of his hands, he starts to pick up the blade from the ground, slow like a slug. Wait a little bit, Gabriel. Then he touches the blade on the ground. Now! I pounce onto his hand with my mouth.

"What!?"

And put one of his fingers into my mouth and start pulling. I hear the cracking until the whole thing is ripped apart, the iron taste invading my taste buds and his blood coming out of his ripped stump. I look at him, while the horror spreads through his face as he realizes he's lost a finger.

"How dare you, how dare you?!"

And I spit the blood into his good eye, blinding him for a moment, as he tries to eliminate the mixture of blood and saliva from it. I pick up the dagger and start to stab his guts, twisting and slashing along the way. He starts coughing out blood and stops trying to form a coherent sentence, as his grunts of pain spread through the room.

In this moment of weakness, I push him to the ground. A loud thud comes out of it, and he puts his hands onto his stomach area, struggling and groaning in pain. I rip apart his position and the agonizing moans play their notes to the sky. I aim at his neck and head, readying the dagger like an Aztec sacrifice. "Filho da puta! Filho da puta! " One hit, two hits. The moans become gurgles as the blood spreads through the ground like water, tainting my clothes.

Flashes of my mother come to me. Ela, Ela, Ela. Porque!? I start pushing the body, the blade falling through the sweat and blood infest hand, at every single moment, harder and harder, the sound of slapping flesh burning on my visage. I look at the figure of the man, nothing more but a corpse, any semblance of crunchiness nowhere to be seen.

I breathe and breath and breath. What have I done!? What have I done!? The muscles strain on my neck, contorting my form. Não, não, Não, não. I start crying. I didn't want this to happen, why!? You son of a bitch, do you have the right to take lives!? You pathetic dog, don't you see the damage you have done!? You always fuck things up! If you weren't here this corpse's brother wouldn't have died, nobody would have suffered. You just occupy space, robbing others of their wills! You are a monster, that's what you are! The worst kind, a greedy one who thinks it best for everyone. Don't you see that you are the problem!?

Mother was right along, the worst being in existence to the point of making people sick and sucking out their will like a leech!? I grab my head, and press further and further, and start to push myself again. The knuckle gets stronger at every moment, the pain increasing tenfold at every single Strike; Plak, Plak, Plak, Plak. The rhythmical sound of a bashed skull spreading through the room, the guilty one and the man who deserves everything wrong with him by his selfish wish, Gabriel Raimundo Bilac, the narcissistic young man who never ever should have existed. A mistake deserved more to be abandoned and die alone, my only true destiny and the most realistic one.

I fall at the side of the man, as I stop crying and the world's turn into a standstill. A momentary image before it completely falls apart, the idiot and the body. Nothing and the man. The son and the mother.

* * *

How long has it been? Two hours? Three hours? I don't know, it doesn't really matter anymore. After all this time, it's only blanking memories, a motionless haze to escape from reality and all the mistakes I can't correct. My head hurts as if someone cracked open my skull with an axe, making me dizzier than anything else.

The freezing ground touching my face, colder than a tombstone, the tears long evaporated, only the salty trails and itching skin as it's the only remainder of this world. I don't feel like moving at all, all the energy spent on the non-collapse of this body. The corpse stares down at me, one of his eyes still looking at me, as empty as it is, his facial expression contorted into a gasp like that of a fish.

A lone question lingers in my mind, the only one that matters into this blood-soaked infused mix between unconsciousness and reality: will I ever go home? I don't know anymore.

I stay a few more minutes on the gritty and grinding rocky surface ground, so long that I barely register the pointless and utter ugliness of the situation. All the physical pain stopped long ago. Despite how broken my frame may be right now, it's nothing compared to the struggle and hurt in my mind.

Whatever it may be, I can't stand on the ground forever, reality doesn't work that way. I will do an attempt at getting up. The damage received in the battle is still lasting until now, feeling like it belonged to me since I was born. The pain of taking a single breath, soreness in every single fiber of my being, and the extension and contraction of the muscle making me wish to scream into the world for how afflicting it is.

Once I am on my own two feet, I almost fall down again when I make the first step, my legs limp trying to get a single narrow step right, the constant war between the will of the mind and the legs' surrender to tiredness, the sensation of vertigo where a fall can feel like knocking on to death's door. Struggling and dragging myself towards the mirror

I come through the mirror, still intact without a single sign of a fight happening there. Not even a single drop of blood or even the smallest of cracks, despite the conflict between that murderous guy's rampage and the foreigner who has a funny accent and the bare knowledge of the language to live there, and yet lacks the ability and makes more trouble than anything else. Que bagunça!

I look at my face. "Somehow" (obviously), I look way worse than before. Death had visited me in these few hours of drunkenness. I'm paler than Tharja, the unhealthy white claiming my skin as its own, the saliva mixed with blood coming out of my mouth like a river, no doubt because of the few remains of the blood of his finger sticking through my mouth.

The two dark spots under my eyes are bigger than ever before. My hair is wet with the blood of the guy, along with my clothes. What a pain. What the hell am I going to do with this body? If people see this thing, I'm deader than the guy who attacked me.

I go to the corpse and pick up the dagger, some brain matter sticking to the tainted blood on the blade. How I will even get away with this murder? I go to my desk and fall on the chair as a form to think through this mess. There should be a way, but what place and what person in the right mind will accept a corpse?

"Porque eu tô aqui?" Tears come out of my eyes, while I crumble into a fetal position. I'm just so tired, I want to disappear out of this world and never return. What a stupid and selfish desire, just like mother said. You killed a man, and yet you want to escape like a coward. What a despicable human being I am.

The memories from back home come to me like rays out from the sky, the distorted sound of waves and dreamless night, the chaos of Stravinsky. Was there ever true order in melodies or just hidden chaos? Has there ever been peace? Or was it all a false reality to protect me? And what point does any of this matter pretty much? I killed a man, and there is nothing I can do.

I stare back again at the remains of the killed man. His clothes are destitute brown and with a face somewhat familiar to me. Oh, that noble. That one noble from back then, the one who almost brought me to death, yes that one. I pick my journal and I go back to that day, that fateful day where all this mess began.

4/ 3 ou 4?/ 20 ou não?- O QUE EU DEVO FAZER ? NÃO SEI, APENAS QUE TUDO FOI DE MAL A PIOR.

_I don't know how to process the events that transpired before me. But who in their right mind would get a problem when they barely just got here? And this person is the guy who writes this entry onto this very stupid journal. How did I get it so wrong? I'm supposed to get everything right and mix in the shadow and become just another face in the crowd and wait for events to happen. Nobody would know me, after all._

_I was so naive and dumb. Why wouldn't people question why some random would have become related to this clan? I didn't do my research and look at me: almost becoming food for the maggots._

_I was so naive to think I would be capable of speaking in their tongue and be ignored. From the inception all communication was null, my costumes too foreign, a single step made, all eyes on me like a fantastical creature, a single mistake for the laughter of millions. I remember once where I got from the desk and they eyed me like a monster. What else could I do besides recoil in shame?_

_One of them was special. Every day he spied on me, laughing right down to my face for any single mistake I made. Tharja really doesn't care about my complaints. She didn't interact with me, preferring to do everything alone and ignoring me like a nuisance. What did I do wrong?_

_The dark mages are awful! They keep their tomes ready to kill me, and their eyes can kill even the most strong-willed of men. Then today happened. I think I didn't quite process whatever happened, but just words came like a broken record: despair. Today would be the same or so I thought._

_The tallest man brought me to someplace where I don't have a single clue for what it is. He brought a dagger with him, so cold so sharp and at that moment it dawned on me: I would die._

_With all my strength I tried to hold against the dagger, the blood coming out of my hands. Sadly, he wasn't that good with the dagger and while trying to stab me, his blade fell. When he tried to pick it up again, I had already taken it and stabbed him, making him fall._

_What have I done? Was this the right decision?_

_My hands were bloodied, his moans audible for everyone. I couldn't tell how many minutes passed._

_The man was still there and I was immobile like a statue. The first person to appear was Tharja. She didn't look at me, not even in the slightest. More and more people came. I was holding the dagger with blood._

" _That is the dagger! Holy Grima, he is a killer!"_

" _Shut up, all of you! My retainer is innocent!"_

" _On what grounds?" someone said._

_She stared back at them, and all their accusations dropped._

" _He must pay for the damage to my clan," Tharja said_

" _But, but…"_

" _No buts. I'm not a fool. This man tried to kill my retainer."_

_After all of that, all of the people left. She didn't look back at me._

_Then they brought me to the trial, all eyes on me. "Hereby… shall die as punishment."_

_I heard his last agony. "No, please. I didn't do anything wrong! Don't believe them!" Then the blade passed through his throat, ending his life._

_All of them looked at me with punitive eyes, booing and cries of hatred hurled at me, Tharja still didn't look at me._

_I only got to my room. This wouldn't have happened if I hadn't been here. I was the problem. I was the one to blame. If I didn't exist, this wouldn't have happened! Yes, if I'm forgotten, people will forget me. They will never hurt if I don't appear at all. Me and my thoughts. Yes, None can kill me if I'm alone with myself. Que saudades de casa._

_Gabriel Raimundo Bilac_

Did I ever change? Whatever, I will call Tharja, she will know what to do, right?

I get up from the chair, my mind still clouded by the events that happened beforehand. It's like an alcohol-driven headache, my sense of direction being thrown left and right out of the window.

I slip into the pool of blood. My head hits the torso of the cadaver, smearing even more of the liquid into my clothes and hair. I really deserve this. I debate even if I should go to her or not. Is there even a wish to go there? The guilt is ever consuming, but I digress with myself, and with my energy left, I raise and open the door towards the world.

The world is just as dark as my room, the torches barely making their lights, with shadows bigger than a human being, no guards in sight, only the silence corroding the sound of the torch.

I stumble towards Tharja's room. A nauseating descent controls me, vertigo threatening me to just disappear forever, straining muscle burn while I fall on Tharja's door, more like a cadaver than a person. I lift myself and start knocking as loud as I can. One knock, two knocks, three knocks.

"Ugh, what is it….?" At the sight of my pathetic body, Tharja falters. My stoicism may be damned, horror is the reality now, and I can't hold on anymore. So what I do is fall at her, my energy way too spent on every single action. And what can I do besides that? The dizziness and the cold embrace of death cling to me like a mother, the hug of the dark mage to its retainer.

"Eu não sei mais, Tharja. Só desisto mesmo." I whisper back at her. She closes the door, and like a medic brings me to her bed, the soft mattress holding me into the turmoil of everything unfolding so far, the only escape of this migraine.

Bandages cling to me, the blood painting them with purplish-red stains. The same cold bitter liquid spreads through me, dulling my senses, the lack of touch and air, the airheadedness of surgery, and the recovery of my tissues and muscles. She is at my side, still putting on the bandages, while looking at me, worry carved into her visage. After "some moments", I stare back at her, the exertion still pushing me back to the feverish reality.

"Gabriel, can you tell me who did this to you?"

I barely contain my cry, I'm still a crybaby after all. "He's dead. I killed him. His body is in my room."

The words aren't registered on her mind, baffling to both sides.

"How?"

"I don't really know." I can barely contain my tears, his blood clings through my hands like his brother. "I don't know. I am so sorry, Tharja. I didn't want to bring this to you or anyone. Why am I such a mess? I'm so sorry, so sorry..." I break down again. What a pathetic human being you are.

She puts one of her hands on my shoulder and allows me to cry. I allow her to do so, in an attempt to soothe the pain, to only try to put away her from out of nowhere.

I don't deserve anyone. I deserve everything that happened to me. Despite the often agonizing pain making me wish to simply not exist. I get up from the bed resembling more a fresh cadaver and ignore Tharja's reaction.

"I have a body to dispose of, would you help me?"

A small sigh follows "I will help,". The time leading into my room is marred with the dark corridor and the silence dominated by the embedded uneasiness of actions, sweat covers me head to toe along with bodily fluid as the frozen void in my belly pronounces the worst to happen, men incapable to even try to see Tharja at my back, the guilt still consuming me.

The body still lays on the floor, the blood still liquid, despite a few drops being dried out, the odor still didn't settle, leaving a small window of opportunity to pick up the guy.

I look at Tharja "Here is the man. Do you have any idea where we could put it?"

"I have a place in mind."

We carry the corpse, me holding a part of his arm and Tharja his legs. She is way stronger than me.

At any moment the guards could catch, my guts telling this is over and we should give up and die already. Along the journey towards the unknown place, the silence remains the king. I can't nor do I want to see anybody, the pain of guilt dominating me, and my fear of the consequences people would put on me. I try to subsidize my anxiety, but all in vain, it's a ghost still following me like a curse.

The pain subsides a bit once, we arrive under the starless night and hidden moon. The frozen winds and the ruins of a courtyard and the hole towards Henry's room. I swallow my dry saliva at whatever goes inside the room, the smell of death following us since we pick up the remains.

"Are you sure, Tharja?"

"Yes. He will be happy to get a new toy."

Henry sleeps like a baby, with the crows surrounding him, while we put the dead men onto a pile, forgetting its existence and wishing Henry not to get suspicious of a new body appearing there.

The room lacks air, the rotten smell dominating the nostrils, and at every single step, the worst could happen and Henry could appear, damning the whole operation, destroying my sensation of air, the tension ready to destroy me.

When we get out of the suffocating place, my head has fallen, and the mark of shame follows me like an old friend. What am I supposed to do?

"Gabriel?"

"Yes, Tharja?" Why prolong the inevitable?

"I think you should have a break from our experiments."

Just eliminate me already if you want. I sigh.

"I see."

"And also, you don't need to hate yourself."

Huh? What you are saying?

"I know how hard your situation is."

Please stop, just stop, I don't deserve any help. I'm just ranting like a teenager, don't you see?

"Well, Tharja. I think I should be alone. You know, I'm just tired of all of this."

And I leave her alone. What an asshole move I did. I'm the worst. Ignore the pool of blood and lock the door. I'm tainted as it is. And I go directly to my bed and let the dreamless night claim me. I cry and laugh into oblivion, the cacophony, my only relief until the sleep claims me from these faltering actions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was chapter X. I thank everyone for following me and reading my stuff. Also, I want to thank Cavik for beta reading this chapter as always. Also if you want to talk with me, here is the discord server where I participate: discord .gg/9XG3U7a


	11. XI- Aftermath

The only thing greeting me is an immeasurable void. It stays for hours upon hours without any single movement from either of us. No sound, image, or anything coming out, Nothing. Not even a single scratch of the ever-present tendrils of fear. Just nothing.

Did I even exist at this point?

The suffocating atmosphere soaks my body from the mattress strangling me. The anguishing heat throughout my body makes me roll out in the bed to find a single cold spot into the ocean of blazing furnace in my bed, the futile attempts of searching it that only leads to the same status quo: The feverish shock between reality and dream, a furnace burning me whole and melting away any single comfort, flashes of dreamless sleep drowning into a sea of delirious wake-ups.

The migraines wake me up, the pain is worse than an axe splitting my skull in two. At least, this hell is over. I don't feel like going out of bed. My body is heavier than steel, and with only enough energy left to allow me to gaze at the ceiling, nothing more. My face embedded with sweatness and nothing else, and confusion takes over as the world seemingly spins around.

But even staying on the mattress has its fair share of problems. The sweat on my body acts like glue, sticking the blanket onto my skin. the feverish hotness into my corpse, and the atmosphere still stuffy from the nightmarish night of yesterday and this eve. I howl at the situation befalling before I falter into a sigh. It's a long day ahead and it will not allow me to rest for a single second, damned by the migraines and myself.

Should I take even a swig of the bitter liquid? Do I prefer loads of pain? Or to drink a bitter healing liquid where the side effects of its long exposure are not well-known to solve the well-known illness known as migraines?

Either way, This is going to suck. And where is the medication, anyway? Do I even have it? Or has my mind been so fuzzy that I tricked myself into thinking that I have something to dull a little bit of the pain? And what hour is it? Is it still night?, Or have people finally left their rooms? I hear no single step, only the recurrent march of silence and the imaginary sound of supposed torches. Did I even light a torch yesterday? Is it even dark here, or is there light? What the hell is going on at this point?

I make an attempt to arch my arms and stretch my legs and body, trying to remove the influence of the suffocating blanket Another struggle ensues, the little bolts of electricity puncturing my tendons while the cloth tangles with my clothes and cover while, of course, strangling. I roll out trying to get the thing off of my body while grabbing it.

The blunt of rocks strikes my bones and a splash of blood taints my robes after I fall from my bed. What a great way to start the day. The cold ground hugging me and seducing me into its catatonic splendor. Why should I get out of the rocks? There is simply no meaning to get out of this state. there is simply no meaning to this or anything. Problems just pile up one against the other. every single time. The blurring of foolish people. The numerous discussions of why I'm here. The body of the person I have killed. I'm just tired.

I wish I still had the ability to laugh at my own misery. To make the events around me less bleak. A comforting thought at the situation around this kingdom and its future, the ever-approaching problem. But what can I laugh at? Seeing corpses left and right? The rites of fanatics that made me aware of how much they want to destroy this earth? Almost being killed? What's to laugh about all that? How childish must I have become to even want to laugh at these events?

I can't be in this state for way too long. Time will move and will I be left behind. And that will be it for me, to be stuck in this rotten room till I die. What a pointless endeavor and tiring prospect. Should I even cry for this? I don't feel like crying and maybe I shouldn't after all.

Like a slug, I try to make my way back to being a human and not a single motionless spot on the ground. With my faltering arms and slumbering feet, I force the flesh and tendons to move once again and stand for myself. Once I'm on my way to the foot, the ground stops existing as vertigo takes hold of me. A bottomless pit opens and the power of gravity smashes any semblance of energy left in me as my eyes try to close again.

Calm down, exhale, and inhale. The void disappears as I come back into the world. The drops drip of the red liquid and make their little splash sounds, the stained robe by blood in my body, a reminder of what I have become.

What possibly can I do to deal with the stains? At least the colors of my clothes are dark as the night. But part of it reflects on the golden bits, dulling and becoming the antithesis of them. The color of fortune and misfortune sing their disharmony together, another proof of the guilt of my actions.

Still. the red taint is way less perceptible than it should've been. I could pick up some pieces of paper and try to get it out of my clothes, but with that comes the question of what tissue I should use for cleaning any of this mess. The books are out of the question. Maybe I can use the blanket. After all, who needs heat in this godforsaken desert?

With my step, a splosh sound hits my ear as a cold liquid sticks to my foot. How could I forget? look on the ground and a part of the blanket is already soaking up the liquid. I guess a part of the problem is already being solved as I ramble.

I crouch and pick up a part of the blanket and start scrubbing it around. I use it as a makeshift sponge, soaking up the blood into the fabric of the clothes until only a few remaining drops remain on the ground. The whole absorption makes it impossible to use this as a towel, I'm only going to get bloodier and wetter with that thing on.

And now the blanket starts to leak out a few droplets, great. What place can I hide it or even put it? Think, think! The most obvious object stares at me. Of course! The wardrobe! I put it in there and close, trying to forget it ever existed in the first place, hoping the smell doesn't invade and infect the room.

Then I notice a metallic flash on the ground, some parts reflecting brightly, others not so much. Like a ring, it calls me, seducing me to pick up and seize for myself. Of course, what else could it be?

I finally used the blade last night. So long has passed from the first time I saw it. Eons ago, long before the world started to reveal its true nature to me. The weapon which brought so much misery to me. The beginning of my fall, and yet my savior. Truly a double-edged dagger.

Maybe it is a good option to use it after all. I don't know when another person will want to kill me again, but this dagger may be more trouble than it's worth. Then I look at the thing and I drop it as the memory of both men dying comes to me like bullets. Both bodies staring back at me with their empty gazes and even hollower sounds coming out of them. No! Get out! Get out of my mind! I don't want to touch the blade at all! I shook my head, trying to cease the flashes of memory out of existence.

What I can do now? Blood is on my hands, and I feel a little bit lost. Even if I wanted to get out of here right now, part of my clothes are soaked in the liquid, so this isn't a great nor smart option, I might be suspected and executed on the spot. And it isn't like I have any reason to go outside, and besides, I don't feel like going out anyway.

So what am I supposed to do?

I collapse again into the bed, the lingering question burning through me, what the hell am I supposed to do? Reaching into what's left of my mind leads into a void where nothing comes, only static noises and guilt. I stare at the ceiling looking for a way to pass the stuck time, I start to count the shadows or the little imperfections of the rocks.

"Um, dois, três, quatro, cinco, six, seven, eight, nine, ten…" It's like counting sheep, but somehow even more boring than normal It hurts my eyes even more, and to such a little payoff, anguish in my gut taking over yet again. I wish I was still somewhat sleepy, but the pain nagging inside my head stops me from going back to another round of sleep. I hate migraines.

At this point, what action should I take? One or another always leads to another pointless endeavor at best, where I learn nothing or lead me into almost certain death. I need to stop complaining about things, the energy spent on them could be used for something more useful than thinking about how boredom is the sole state of the mind.

The ferric smell consummates the room spreads throughout all of it, the source, of course, concentrated into the wardrobe. Flashes of the kills invade my mind like a bullet, yet again. Now underneath their bodies Mother's face forms. My hair stiffens while nausea takes over me. The rotten appearance makes me coil further into the bed, while I grab my robes as fast and tight as I can, constraining myself into a fetal position. Get out of my head! Get out! Just stop!

I can barely control myself at this point. What a failure! I stop struggling in the episodes. My body sweats cold while the memories keep repeating like a broken record. The sensation of hands on my throat, while I anticipate for the worst that never comes, the images of punishment and estrangement. The memory passes and what is left of me is the emptiness.

Is there even an escape for this? Another pointless question to be asked. I take two very large breaths, sucking the most amount of air possible as a calming effect for the nerves. The famous one, inspire and two, exhale. Maybe I can get out of bed right now.

It takes another struggle to get out of it. One step to get the thing out of me slogs through time, the movement of the foot to arrive at the hard ground as slow-motion, little messages of my brain shocking with each other. Surrender is always an option.

With the foot set, the energy passes and extinguishes, as if it never belonged to me again. Once again, I ask again what I'm supposed to be doing. Why make this step? On the ground, dizziness takes hold. Another step, another question to be made. What the hell am I doing?

My body ignores my orders or even my thoughts. As if it is its own creature, it moves without my command, in spite of the disarray of my mind. I stop once reality strikes back. Fatigue fights back and I collapse to the ground, while I stare at nothing in particular, just an empty void.

My mind goes into null, another case of gazing at the deep end, and wondering what is even going on. No sound or image invades nor does my memory play black, my mind as empty as it can possibly be, just another blank into the sea of forgotten memories and small moments that last into eternity yet only last a few seconds.

At this point, I stop counting how many times I already dozed off or became empty. Another cycle feeding into another cycle. I look at the dagger, the plated crust and few drops still remaining as the dust accumulates into the glistening metal of the blade, I pick up the blade and start cleaning and grabbing it like a prized possession, as if it was my own child, holding it close to my body until the sickening memories go back and are thrown to the farthest corner I could imagine.

A replay of myself picking up the blade and jamming it into my skull, the same imaginary playbacks I had eons ago back home. How far I have come and how little I have changed, just the same old person, did I truly even change at this point, or am I the same guy? I don't know, and no one barely knows me to say if this is true or not. I like to think that I didn't change, only my desires, but even if that is the case, what even am I anymore? I wish I were home, I truly wish my home back.

Yes, back home. How much has it had changed in the past couple of months or several months, I stopped counting long ago. For all I care it could be 2021 or 2030, the dates don't matter as much as the deadline, but the point is the deadline until the war is going to happen, the only indication just the rumors of the ever-increasing army, but how much until the war machine is going to be built to last an entire war, that question nobody knows the answer, only the deranged mind of Gangrel and whatever his delusions are.

I get up, the clothing sticking to my skin by the wetness of the few drops of blood mixed with the sweat, maybe I should take a bath or something close to that. I sigh, where do I even begin? I pick up the water I have and go back to the mirror and start picking up the water. I can see my somewhat healed nose, a few drops remaining, but not the same as yesterday, or so I think. Just like every day both of my dark spots claiming more and more of my eyes' surroundings, eating my skin like two living animals, and my hair still messy as ever, the neck with the marks of the man's hand, purplish. How ugly.

I pour water into my head and wet the hair, while I try to scrub away anything that reminds me of the red liquid like it's a plague, dust, and other particles mixed with the water, dark liquid spreading through my face and neck. When was the last time I even took something akin to a bath, I don't know. It's nasty, but it's better than dealing with murder and the events happening right now. My damp hair resembles a little bit of that roman emperor Augustus's but it is so long that some strands block my vision, nor does it have the glorified aspect of the statue.

I remove my upper robes, peeling off the tainted dark mage robe that I have received from Tharja and then the old apprentice clothing that I had received way back when I first arrived here. It was months ago that I even removed it from my skin, it's jarring if I'm being honest as if someone removed their own soul, but that's way too dramatic for my tastes. I only stare back at my lack of musculature, but it could be worse. The only thing somewhat present is the scar I received from Henry on my belly, but even that it's fading away as if it was never there to begin with.

I got to see my back after all, that where it needs cleaning the most, after all getting an infection, because of a badly treated wound is something that isn't in the plans. I try to look at where the slash happened, but I barely see anything. Oh wait, I forgot to even light the torches. What a genius mind I have, one that even forgets the bare essential.

I don't care, and go searching whatever happened to my back until I can bandage it, murky with darkened blood, impossible to determine if it's mine or the dead man's or even the most important of all if infection took hold or not. The one million dollar question, impossible to be answered right now. I decide not to risk and put on my robes. Well, at least I'm somewhat clean, right, right?

That leads to one question, my eternal question, the one that strikes back every single time. What do I do now?

Well, I don't know. Maybe if… no! They will certainly discover you, and they will kill you, you did just kill man, you can't just go waltzing around willy nilly as if nothing happened, especially when I can't even hold myself back, that would be complete madness and just irresponsible, I don't want to bring another trouble to Tharja or even Reflet. That would be too selfish, way too selfish.

That leads to only one possible thing to do, to my utter dismay: maybe if a pick up the dagger and start analyzing it once and for all, I can have some clues for what the hell happened or maybe, even somewhat of the origin of this item and track the original owners or something close to that. Who am I kidding, I'm not a detective, how the hell am I capable of tracking down an item, if I can't even stop being hated to the point shadows start attacking me?

Whatever, I don't have anything to do, and at this point, I almost died twice. A blade isn't going to end my life right now, especially when none of its users are alive. Well, I also can be considered one of them, but that's beside the point.

I slowly take my steps toward the damned thing, trying to keep my breathing under control, and slowly pick it up again. It is only a blade, it is only a blade. Repeat. It is only a blade, nothing more and nothing less, it can be only a tool.

I go immediately to the desk and start lighting the few candles, while I also start gazing at the finer details of the weapon that almost brought me to my end. The dagger that belonged to a minor clan is very well made, a silver blade, a red jewel encrusted into the top of the hilt, it reflects way too much to be of bad quality, I can see my face even better than in the mirror, it doesn't feel like a weapon now, it is more of a ritual.

Whoever made this isn't a minor clan, it's too god damn fancy. It belongs to someone, someone that wishes my death very much, but who? Whatever may be the guy who wanted me dead, then question when he planned my death, before I got hated or even before it. Both good questions, though I need more clues to get the answer.

That's life, but where do I even start after this finding? Maybe I could go to the library or something like that, but then I would risk getting myself killed or even worse bring other people into my mess.

Should I go or should I stay here for now?

The decision froze me from any action, the fear impaling me, holding to my heart, and being. I grit my teeth, unlock the lock, and grab the door handle. The few seconds last like an eternity, a static picture and the emotions eating me from inside out. I slowly turn the handle, sweat on my hands, making the action slippery as whatever happens on the other side will be for the worst: an abandoned body in the middle of nowhere.

The lonely air infiltrates my mind as what reveals to me in the corridor is nothing. Nobody appears on the other side, not even a single noise. My breathing is the sole thing hearable kilometers away. My steps are stalking into the floor as no one else appears as I walk towards somewhere, my hands on the dagger, ready for anyone to come.

I go upon Tharja's door. Maybe, she is there and will explain whatever is happening today. Is the whole lamentation's day happening right now? Did it happen beforehand or it was a trick of my mind? I remember when Reflet told me that nobody appears when this day happens, but it can happen at other times?

I do a single knock on the wood. Seconds pass as I look around for anyone or anything watching me. She doesn't answer. I prepare my hand and knock three times. The thump exploding into the hallways, reverberating, and destroying any chance of a quiet escape. One minute, two minutes, and three minutes pass by. Tharja doesn't answer. I gulp dry, where can I go next, and what happened to everyone?

Nobody watches me nor is anyone heard. Not even the eyes of Grima gaze at me. The void and me the sole person in the place, I discard the hypotheses she is even here. In a drunken haze I wander through the ends and chokehold of the area, the empty visage I always see in the statue, ignore my presence and remain static as they always do, I don't catch the sight of even a single fly or person. A thought invades my head: "This is way too much, one single step and death will catch me", Shut up!

A trek to the main hall happens, the hope and the horror to find a single being capturing my mind, the dread increasing as the emptiness of the doorways becomes my sole companion. What happened to everyone, what in the entire mind can make an entire group just vanish out from thin air?

Which festival, holiday or ritual could take place to make people disappear in this godforsaken place? Another of Validar's announcements, when had gone to war overnight and they forgot me? None of those is a possibility, right? It didn't stop them from knocking over my door, why would this time be any different!?

The splendor of the main hall marries the deserted floor, the purples and golds abandoned to the melodies of the unlistenable wind. Only I am the sole 'inhabitant' ' of this damnable place, whatever direction my foot leads, not even a single strand of hair as if everyone was abducted while the horrors occupied my mind in these 'hours". Or could it be days or even months? What time is it!?

Calm down, Calm down. Well, there are two options: go to the library and find some answers in the books or someone in there or go to the place where the messianic worship… It is obvious which is the place to go to right now.

I stride towards the walled gates belonging to the same place where I first met Reflet. I don't know whether to classify the memories with her and this location as good or bad even.

Surely, I didn't want to get into this mess in the first place, and just the fact I talk with her only brings me closer to Validar and his allies, therefore even closer to death and she is a complete mystery, especially how way she acts, is she Grimafied Robin or is it, Robinfied Grima? Or both? But the actual facts weren't so bad, it's pleasant to have a conversation with someone that doesn't want to kill me in the first place.

With a sigh, I enter the Library. No one greets me in here. A mixed sign, nobody will try to ask me as to why I'm doing such a task here since there is nobody, but what if someone appears and I'm not prepared for it? What can I do? I shake this thought, for now, I will not be able to find anything if I don't put myself at any kind of risk, as much as I despise the fact.

The search begins, the first of maybe one of the many that will direct me to who would try to kill me in the first place. Through the shelves, I gaze at the many books of history or genealogy from Plegia. Why didn't I look when I got here, I'm really dumb. I pick up one that may hold the answer, or the beginning of it: " _The development of Plegia and its clans'_

" _One of the many characteristics of how Plegia developed is how brief their kings lasted, some say that king Munstair "the law-giver" was the longest, with only 30 years. But that is not to say that he ruled for over 30 years, something that all historians disagree with: he properly ruled for only 10 of them and the rest was in the control of the Grimleal._

_At the same time, even when the Grimleal ruled the kingdom, more often than not, various internal conflicts happened, with sects trying to get a hold on power. Using Munstair's time as the King, there was one period where the Messianic sect and Orthodox vied for power, resulting in the famed 'broken years' where no one properly ruled, leading the clans to become effectively independent. And at the end of the conflict, both of the sects got so exhausted that the King was the only one with resources to command, leading to the wars of reunification and that would result in the famed Golden Age of Plegia."_

Ok, that is not what I'm looking for.

How many books are here in the first place? I gaze back at the massive rows of codices, treats. At this pace, I will never be able to find even a single clue who could order my assassination.

I hear a stalking sound coming, the gates cracking for whatever being is coming. Damn, there isn't enough time to get out, I put my hand on the dagger and ready myself for whatever may come.

Out of the room comes an unsuspicious man with a small beard and unassuming aura, just another face in the crowd. There wasn't a lot of luxury nor elegance with his clothes, just some generic robes and that's it. Well, anything on this land spells trouble anyway. Have an eye on him.

I return to my book as a way to hide. Maybe he will notice I was only reading a book and was surprised, or so I hope. Unless he is someone with an agenda. Whatever is happening is not normal, and my next step will probably change something. As for why I don't know. What I know is something is very wrong. Underneath his air of obliviousness, he may hold a lot of information, or being here just turned into a madman.

He ignores and passes by without flinching for a single second. Phew, it just was a bystander, thanks.

Now the question becomes where I can go next? Maybe I-

"Didn't see you there," How the heck you didn't see me, I just watched some minutes or seconds ago!

"Why aren't you in prayer?" Real subtle, you are really subtle. He wants something.

"Well, I can say the same for you," His eyes go wild as he starts checking his surroundings and trying to speak some flimsy excuse. Not so sneaky as you would like to think, huh. It must be embarrassing, right?

"What… no…. I'm …" What I thought, he didn't come prepared, did he?

"Just tell me what you want with me?" He stops looking around him and starts to stare at my eyes.

"Nothing really, I'm just looking for some books,"

"Hmmm" And I return my gaze to the words surrounding me, avoiding his eyes.

"Are you from here? Your accent is weird, way too many vowels"

I left him hanging.

"Then you are a foreigner. Never thought that would be the case in the palace, unless you are a diplomat, of course?"

I don't answer him, he is getting way too close to my person. What the hell does he want with me?

"You are awfully silent. Huh, ignore me. I'm going to get myself a book" And he disappears to the shelves. I really need to go hide somewhere.

Closing the book, a question pops up in mind: should I return the book to where it belongs or let it sit here? Options, I hate options.

Some steps crash against the ground. I don't have much time left! Where do I put it or even I should put it!? I ignore it and leave the place, leaving the slab of paper behind. I fucked it up so hard! Why did I have this idea!? What is he even? I'm so screwed.

I run along the corridor not stopping for a single second. I have to get out of this mess as soon as possible! I ignore the world, the sounds, and the empty corridor and the architecture that eats people, and the hellish court. Nobody watches me, nobody watches me. Oh no, somebody's watching me. The tunnel vision contorts space as it becomes one sole direction and its eyes follow me, the statues melt and the eye of Grima disappears. This thing is human.

Here is my room! I go inside and lock it. Phew, what the hell was I thinking? I will need some change of plans right now. The whole mystery can go later, I need to survive, where did I fuckin put my flux? Where is it, where is it? Oh no, please don't tell me that I had forgotten the tome in Henry's room? Oh no. Knocks bang through the door, fuck it. I ready the dagger and slowly unlock it as I hide in the space between the wall and my desk, readying myself for him to enter.

"Oh interesting, don't tell me that you are that boy of Fatimid. Huh, this is getting very interesting." He doesn't enter the room. He gazes in my direction.

"Ready to kill me? What a shame. I have an interesting proposal if you are willing to listen." Well, should I believe it? If I strike him maybe I can kill him. What the hell are you thinking? Just one day has barely passed and you want to kill the guy, what the hell is wrong with you?

"What sort of proposal, then?"

"I'm so glad you asked. Very simple, you do some tasks I assign you and I give out information you may or may not be interested in. What a tempting offer, I know. Also before you go out and kill me, I have some friends in the upper regions, and they wouldn't like me dead."

"Why would I believe you?"

He smirks. "I can spread out the rumor you've tried to kill me. And the rest will be history."

Should I do the deed and eliminate him? Maybe, I don't know how much deep into court politics, and maybe eliminating him now will remove more trouble down the line. Or just ignore him and his rumors is not the first time I deal with some hatred from the public.

But how influential is he? His words may ring true, and I get Tharja and Robin into my troubles, and that would be problematic and selfish from my party. I don't want to hurt them more than I already do? But… But what do I do?

Yes, eliminate him and dump his body like did with the other guy. Nobody will know, right? And how people can incriminate me in this case, for all I know he isn't related to any scholar and they can't link me with his disappearance.

But what if it's true? Then he can be helpful for my goal.

What should I do? What the heck am I suppose to choose!?

He taps his foot against the ground. "C'mon, just tell me? I don't have enough time to waste, you know."

Okay, go with him, he may hold some information. And besides, it will be problematic down the line if his words are true. I will play his little game. That doesn't mean I shouldn't be careful, I don't know what else he may try.

"You have yourself a deal."

He smiles at my answer. "Good, very good indeed. Tomorrow, I will give you the task to be done. Have a good day and a nice martyr's day."

He gets out of the room and I fall down. That was pointless. What mess did I get into?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was the chapter. Thanks to Cavik and Sushion for beta reading and for all people that read my fic. As always reviews are appreciated. Also here is the link for the discord I participate in, feel free to drop in discord .gg/9XG3U7a
> 
> Now an announcement: Well as much it pains me to say this, I will enter hiatus in January and February, and will probably not post anything. There are many reasons for that. The first is that I have much more pressing concerns in my real life in this period. Although, I will return in March with new chapters
> 
> The second is that I'm feeling burned out of writing in general, as much I enjoy doing it. I hated writing this chapter, things simply didn't connect as much I tried, and to write even 100 words for it was a pure mind-numbing slog, and that is why I consider this the worst chapter I have ever done. Period. And for that I want to say sorry, It could go so much better, but I wasn't capable of doing that and that pains me, the best I hope for you all is that I make the next chapter good.
> 
> Also, 2020 was a mess for all of us, and I don't want to end this on a bitter note. Happy holidays and happy new year for you all, and hope 2021 is way better than whatever chaos was this.
> 
> And thanks for reading up to this point, I truly appreciate that.

**Author's Note:**

> This was the first chapter. Hope this was good. I thank Cavik and sushion on helping in my than stellar grammar. I participate in this discord server https://discord.gg/9XG3U7a. See ya in the next chapter.


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